


Changing History: Second Chances

by fogisbeautiful



Series: Changing History [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Modern Girl in Middle Earth, Possibly Unrequited Love, Return of the King, Slow Burn, magic rings that have nothing to do with that One ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 106,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogisbeautiful/pseuds/fogisbeautiful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Three of the Changing History saga. Melody Bernston has made her choice, and risked the terrible consequences. But as the war catches up to her and time grows short, Mel begins to realize that there’s a reason second chances are so hard to come by.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Alright, so Part Three! I'm excited, are you excited? If you aren't than you should be. Melomir continues into The Return of the King. If you're reading this note and wondering "Melomir? What the heck is a Melomir?" please stop now and read Parts One and Two before continuing. And I'd like to go ahead and give a nice hearty shout-out to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson and anyone else who might have been somehow involved in the making of the epicness that is Lord of the Rings and might want to sue me later. You guys are the best and none of this would be possible without you. And if you still plan on suing, knock yourselves out, I've got nothing to give you.

There were so many.

Faramir threw himself from one battle to the next, desperate to hold the city of Osgiliath against the onslaught of orcs from Mordor. If he lost this city, Gondor lost its last stronghold along the river. Nothing would stand between Mordor and Minas Tirith. So he fought with everything he had and his men followed, rallying only to fall back, over and over. He was tired. They were all tired. They had been fighting too long. Faramir fought against the despair he could feel trying to wrap around his heart.

 _Help will come…_ he repeated, like a silent prayer. _We must hold and help will come…_

The sun rose higher in the sky, but it was weak, covered by a growing darkness boiling out of the east. The orcs relished in the dim light and pressed further, pushing back the Ithilien Rangers bit by bit. Faramir fought until he was overwhelmed and retreated toward a small alcove. He hoped to funnel the orcs, forcing them to face him one at a time, but when he passed through the stone archway, he saw that the alcove was already occupied.

"Faramir!" Madril shouted in warning.

Faramir threw himself to the side. The small knot of archers made quick work of the group of orcs pursuing him and finally they had a few precious moments to breathe and assess the situation. Faramir knew that it was grim.

"We can't hold them," Madril said, ever the pragmatist, "The city is lost."

Faramir knew. He couldn't win this battle. They were too few. They had nothing left…

And then he heard the horn sound.

* * *

Mel's heart pounded in her chest, matching her horse's frantic gallop stride for stride as she and Boromir raced toward Osgiliath. Boromir let out three more short blasts on his horn and then drew his sword. Mel did the same, suddenly realizing (a little too late) that this was nothing like fighting on her own two feet. She felt unstable and clumsy on the back of her galloping horse. She had just enough time to think that this might be a problem before they were clattering through the city streets.

Their running horses caught a few orcs by surprise, trampling them underfoot, but it only took a few minutes for the others to figure out what was happening and face the new threat. Boromir leapt into the battle with abandon, hacking away at orc after orc, using the height the horse provided to his advantage. Mel followed after him, striking clumsily at any foul, black thing that came within arm's reach. She searched her thoughts for any trees in the immediate vicinity that might be some kind of help, but all she found were charred remains and sickened shrubs. Her heart ached, but she didn't have the time or the strength to do anything for them. She was too worried about keeping herself and Boromir alive.

Boromir was doing almost nothing to help her out. He plunged deeper into the thickening bands of orcs as the pile of dead grew all around them. Mel glanced around frantically. Where was Faramir? Where were the Ithilien Rangers? Had they waited too long? Had the men already abandoned the city? Had they just run into a death trap?

Mel was starting to think that maybe now would be a good time to bring up the idea of retreat, when something whistled past her ear. She turned in time to see an orc go down with an arrow in his eye.

"For Gondor! For the White Tower!"

More arrows flew and as the orcs fell, a group of men in armor swarmed out of the stonework, fighting furiously toward them. Mel had just enough time to feel a surge of excitement and relief…

And then her horse went down. An orc caught the two front legs of her mare and cut them out from under her. The horse's scream echoed with her own as she just managed to kick out of her stirrups and throw herself from the saddle before the poor creature fell. Mel rolled to her feet, sword still in hand, and just missed being decapitated. She slit the throat of the attacking orc as payback, but now she was lost in a sea of black and silver, dark skin and metal clashing together. She could still see Boromir on his horse, but he was on the other side of the skirmish. He hadn't even noticed that she was down yet.

She took one step toward him and had to throw up her sword and gut another orc. They were everywhere. Each step she took was a battle. The ground was littered with pieces of armor and the bodies of men and orcs. She had managed three steps, when she heard a growl behind her. She whirled, but too late. The orc had his sword pulled back to strike, an ugly smile on his dirty face, and Mel had just enough time to realize she was about to die. Then a sword swung from behind the orc and took his head right off. Blood gushed everywhere, covering Mel in black splatter and she didn't even care. She just couldn't believe she was still breathing.

The man who had saved her caught her eye. Sharp nose, shoulder length dark hair, stone gray eyes... Familiar stone gray eyes...

Faramir.

Mel knew it was Faramir the way she knew the earth was round. She just knew. The eyes were the biggest clue really, Boromir's eyes set in a different face. Different, yet slightly the same as only siblings can be. For a fraction of a second they stared at each other, Faramir looking as shocked to see her as she felt to see him. Then Boromir shouted her name.

"Melody!"

He sounded panicked. Mel glanced over her shoulder and saw him frantically searching the courtyard. The orcs had been chased out, probably on their way to get reinforcements. She turned back to Faramir and grinned at his bewildered face.

"Thanks!" she blurted out, before turning to shove her way through the crowd of men between her and Boromir.

"Here!" she shouted, waving a hand in the air, "I'm right here!"

He jumped from his horse to meet her, grabbing her arms tightly, his eyes frantic.

"I told you to stay right beside me! What part of that was unclear?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mel snapped, "Next time an orc _cuts the legs off my horse_ , I'll make sure he has your permission first!"

Boromir took a deep breath and let go of her arms.

"I don't have time for this. We need to mobilize our forces so we can strike with precision, use the southern and eastern exits to drive the orcs out of the city. I need to find Faramir."

He turned away from her, searching the crowd of men. It took a minute for Mel to process what she was hearing. It didn't make sense. What was he talking about, drive out the orcs? The orcs were embedded in this city like a really bad case of termites. And when she looked around her, all she saw was exhaustion. These men had been fighting for days, some for weeks. Sure, their eyes were bright with adrenaline now, but pretty soon they were all gonna crash hard. And Boromir was talking about fighting?

"Boromir," Mel said, gently, quietly, so no one else would hear, "I told you, the city's gone. You can't save it. Let's just get these guys..."

But Boromir whirled on her, his eyes flashing.

"I have saved this city from the forces of Mordor many times before. I will _not_ allow it to fall now!"

"Brother…"

They both turned. Faramir had come up behind them and neither of them had noticed.

"Can you not see the men are weary?" Faramir asked, his own tiredness plain on his haggard face, "We have fought for many days and nights to keep this city. Perhaps we should pull back while we have strength left; use our men to defend Minas Tirith…"

"If we hold Osgiliath, we hold the road to Minas Tirith," Boromir insisted, "There will be no need to defend the White Tower if no enemy is able to cross the river and reach its gates."

"But, Boromir-" Mel tried again, but he cut her off with a burning glare.

"I will not abandon this city! We will hold!"

He stormed off, leaving Mel and Faramir staring after him. Mel had seen that look before and it frightened her. There was no talking him out of it. He was determined. Mel turned to Faramir, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of her voice.

"You can sound the retreat."

Faramir shook his head, dazed, still staring after his brother.

"Boromir is the Captain of the White Tower, the men listen to him…"

"Faramir, these are _your_ men, they'll listen to you!" Mel insisted, "You're the one who's been fighting with them all this time, the one they've shared stories with around campfires, who knows how tired they are. They _know_ you. All you have to do is give the order and they _will_ follow you."

Faramir was staring at her now with that same dazed look.

"Who are you?" he murmured.

Mel couldn't help it. She laughed, feeling a little bit of hysteria creeping in. She shoved it down.

"That is a very long story, and I promise I'll tell you as much of it as I can once we're safe and sound behind the gates of Minas Tirith."

She reached out and almost put a hand on his arm, but at the last minute she hesitated and dropped it.

"Please Faramir," she said, her voice shaking a little, "I know you don't know me, but I can't lose him again."

He opened his mouth to reply…

A loud screech tore the air above them and everything stopped. A cold, dripping dread trickled down Mel's spine, vaguely familiar, and she was taken back to the banks of the Anduin, on a cool night beneath stars blotted out by a dark shadow. She swallowed and forced her eyes skyward. A giant creature, a cross between a dragon and an eel, rose into the air with one mighty pulse of its leathery wings and then turned, swooping down toward the courtyard. The men scattered. Faramir grabbed Mel and jerked her behind a stone column just as the thing made a grab for the ground. Several men were caught in its claws and tossed aside like rag dolls to lie crumpled on the stones. Mel's mind slowly worked through her paralyzing terror toward her first coherent thought of the last five minutes.

_Nazgul…_

The winged Nazgul took to the sky and slowly curved around, coming back for a second pass. Faramir pulled her from behind the pillar, shouting across the courtyard as Mel was dragged helplessly behind him.

"Fall back! Fall back to Minas Tirith! Retreat!"

Like a rock dropped in a still pond, men heard the call and echoed it out to their friends, who in turn called it out to _their_ friends until the calls of retreat filled the air around them. Everyone came out of hiding and rushed toward the city gates. Mel finally regained her feet and her senses, trying to yank her arm out of Faramir's grip.

"I have to find Boromir!" she said.

"He will be with us," Faramir said, still dragging her along behind him, his eyes now clear and focused, "Trust me, my brother is stubborn and overconfident, but even he is not so foolish as to take on the Nazgul alone."

As much as she wanted to believe him, Mel had seen Boromir do too many stubborn, overconfident and stupid things. She desperately searched the faces of the retreating soldiers, trying to catch a glimpse of Boromir somewhere in the surging throng, but there was no sign of him. When they reached the gates of the city, Faramir grabbed the reins of a horse and shoved them in her hand.

"I'm not leaving without him," Mel insisted.

"Neither am I." Faramir said, "If he hasn't reached the gates in five minutes, we'll go back for him, I promise."

He turned and began directing his men to horses, making sure everyone had a way to escape the city and overseeing the opening of the gates. Mel mounted up and continued to search for Boromir. Where was he? He still had his horse, so if he was coming he should be easy to spot. She was just about to take off and go back herself when Faramir pulled his horse up beside her. The men were mounted and beginning the mad dash for Minas Tirith.

"Have you seen him?" he asked.

Mel shook her head. There was another screech and she could hear the slow beating of wings. A shudder trembled through her. She shouldn't have left him. She should have stayed with him. Where was he? If they survived this, she was gonna kill him!

"Ride with the others," Faramir said, drawing his sword, "I'm going back."

"Oh no you're not!" Mel said, "You ride with the others and I'll go back!"

Faramir stared at her and then narrowed his eyes in a stubborn look that Mel was all too familiar with.

"My lady, I cannot allow..."

Mel tuned him out. It was pointless to argue with him and there was no way she was leaving without Boromir. She was just about to kick her fidgeting horse back toward the courtyard without him, when she heard the clatter of hooves on stone, faint but distinctive. She waved a hand to get Faramir to stop talking. Surprisingly, he did. They both turned toward the sound, coming from one of the darkened passageways to their left. They waited, the hoof beats getting louder and louder until finally, Boromir burst into view, riding as hard as he could toward the gates. Mel's heart leapt in her chest.

"Run!" Boromir yelled.

Mel and Faramir wheeled their horses and the three of them flew out of the gates of Osgiliath, racing across the open fields west for Minas Tirith. Mel heard more blood-curdling screeches behind them, but she didn't look back. She already knew what was chasing them: Nazgul, three of them, hurtling across the blackening sky. Mel could see the darkness rolling above them, just within her line of sight, but she kept her eyes on the group of men galloping in front of them, rushing toward a white glimmer in the distance. Her body was numb, blood pounding in her ears, waiting for one of those creatures to drop from the sky and…

The first Nazgul attacked just in front of them. The creature tore through the soldiers, scattering them in all directions. The men cried out in terror and the horses screamed in pain as claws ripped through them all. Another Nazgul flew so close over their heads that Mel ducked, grabbing two horses and letting them plunge back to earth. Mel rode past the crumpled, lifeless bodies, trying not to see, trying not to lose it. The Nazgul dropped from the sky again, more screams, more broken bodies. And still they rode on, helpless, alone… and suddenly, Mel had another coherent thought.

_Gandalf, where are you?_

As if in answer, a bright white light cut across the sky and struck the Nazgul like a physical blow. The black creatures reeled back, squealing as if in pain, flapping their giant wings in retreat. Mel lifted in her saddle and saw a speck of white riding toward them across the open grass. She grinned.

"Gandalf!" she shouted, so happy to see him that she didn't even consider that he couldn't possibly hear her. Both Boromir and Faramir glanced at her, but she barely even noticed. She kicked her horse and rode hard to catch up with the others, the brothers following in her wake. With the immediate danger now passed, the other men had slowed their retreat down to a brisk canter and the three who lagged behind soon caught up to the rest. Mel tried to work her way to the front, but that proved more difficult than she would have thought. She had barely managed to reach the middle of the pack when she looked up and momentarily forgot what she was doing.

Minas Tirith was quite a bit bigger than she had anticipated and much more formidable. The circular walls that made up the many levels of the city seemed carved out of the very mountainside, the city itself jutting out into the surrounding fields with all the authority of a king staking claim to his kingdom. Mel could hear trees in her head, gentle murmurings, intelligent and sophisticated, like the trees in Rivendell and Lothlorien. This was a place of knowledge and wisdom. Or at least it had been once. War changed everything.

As the men congregated in the courtyard of the first level, Mel craned her neck, trying to take in everything as she passed within the gates of the city. Boromir's sharp voice pulled her back to the present.

"Why didn't you tell me about the Nazgul?" he demanded.

Jerked from her reverent awe, Mel turned and glared at him.

"What difference would it have made?"

"It might have made all the difference!"

"You're the one who didn't stick to the plan!" Mel snapped, "We were supposed to get in, look around, and get out, not stick around and try to play heroes!"

"I could have saved that city. I just needed more time!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, time was not something we had a lot of. I told you going there was a bad idea!"

"And when, pray tell, did you become an expert in military strategy?"

"I'm not saying I'm an expert..."

A new voice broke into their argument.

"I believe I am an expert."

They both turned and stared at Faramir. He was almost slumped in his saddle with dark rings around his eyes, but he had a determined set to his jaw.

"I may not have your skill with weapons or be a master of men, Boromir, but I am most certainly an expert in strategy. The lady is right. The city was lost before you arrived, Nazgul or no. If it had been more than just the two of you riding to our rescue we might have stood a chance, but look around you. These men are exhausted. You would have led them all to their deaths."

Maybe he just needed to hear it from his brother. Boromir's expression lost all of its stubborn fight and he sighed, rubbing his face.

"You are right, Faramir. You are the strategist. I have always deferred to your wisdom in such situations. I am too rash, I suppose. I see hope where clearly hope has failed."

"Not all hope has failed," Faramir said, clasping his brother's shoulder, a relieved grin spreading over his tired face, "You are alive. Father will be overjoyed to hear it."

"Mel!"

Mel perked up when she heard her name, in a small voice that still somehow carried over the sounds of the soldiers, a voice that she'd know anywhere. She finally spotted a white horse making its patient way toward them and two little hands waving frantically in the air. Mel smiled and pushed her way toward Gandalf and Pippin. The hobbit was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Mel, I knew you'd be here, I just knew it! Everyone's been worried sick about you, but I told them that as soon as we got here I knew you'd turn up and here you are too! I'm awfully glad to see you, Mel, really I am, to tell you the truth I was a little worried myself, but it's alright now isn't it?"

Mel smiled and ruffled the hobbit's hair.

"I told you everything would be alright, Pip. Doesn't anyone ever listen to me?"

"So, Melody Calenhiril, still alive I see."

Mel turned her smile up to the wizard, trying his best to look grumpy but not really succeeding.

"I'm glad to see you too, Gandalf. You have no idea how glad."

Gandalf finally gave up the pretense and returned her smile. He looked… younger. Despite the white hair and beard, there was an energy about him that he hadn't had as Gandalf the Grey. He seemed less like an old man and more like an ageless entity.

"I like your new look," she said, only half-joking, "White's your color."

Gandalf's face took on a tinge of amusement and he opened his mouth as if to reply, but then his eyes flitted behind her and the humor vanished, replaced by a carefully guarded expression.

"So," he murmured, "You have truly rewritten the song."

Mel looked behind her. Boromir and Faramir were making their way toward them. She looked into Gandalf's troubled face without shame or apology.

"I was given a choice. I chose life."

The wizard nodded, but his eyes remained on Boromir.

"I know of your choices. But life is not always so simple."

He finally met her eyes and something she saw there told her he knew everything. He knew about Mandos and her ultimatum, a life for a life. He knew that she was going to have to let someone die…

"Mithrandir!" Faramir's voice rang across the courtyard, "They broke our defenses. They've taken the bridge and the west bank. Battalions of orcs are crossing the river."

"It is as Lord Denethor predicted," A soldier said, "Long has he foreseen this doom!"

Gandalf glared at the man, "Foreseen and done nothing!"

He turned his horse to better face Faramir, revealing Pippin to him for the first time. Mel watched Faramir's eyes widen in surprise, but Pip only had eyes for his brother.

"Boromir!" he shouted happily.

Boromir grinned and ruffled the hobbit's hair as Mel had done just a few moments ago.

"Hello there, Master Peregrin! What are you doing in my city? And where is your faithful companion, Meriadoc? Getting into trouble I imagine, the two of you will bring Minas Tirith tumbling down from the inside if left to your own devices for long."

Pippin's face fell, "Merry... We… We left Merry with the others in Rohan."

"Rohan, you say! Why you've been quite the traveler of late haven't you?"

Gandalf's shrewd eyes were fixed on Faramir, who had not taken his surprised gaze from Pippin even once.

"This is not the first halfling to have crossed your path…"

Boromir turned to stare at his brother.

"Faramir?"

Faramir glanced up at his older brother and then dropped his eyes, as if he were embarrassed. Boromir looked at Mel, his eyes asking her the question he obviously wanted to ask his brother. Pippin's enthusiastic voice broke the silence.

"You've seen Frodo and Sam!"

Faramir nodded, once again glancing at his brother. Boromir just stared at him in shock.

"Where? When?" Gandalf asked, his face awash with relief.

"In Ithilien, not two days ago," Faramir met the wizard's eyes, "Gandalf, they were taking the road to the Morgul Vale."

Gandalf's face fell, "…and then the pass of Cirith Ungol."

Mel felt eyes burning into her and she looked up. Boromir was glaring at her. Mel felt something cold knot up in her chest. Great, what had she managed to screw up this time?

"Faramir," Gandalf said, an edge of panic in his voice, "Tell me everything."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaahhh, sorry I abandoned you guys for a while, I'll try to make up for it this weekend! :D For now, enjoy chapter two! :)

Mel did her best to pretend to listen as Faramir told the others about his encounter with Frodo and the Ring, but she kept glancing at Boromir. She couldn't get that look he'd given her out of her mind. What had she screwed up now? It seemed like every time she turned around she was doing something wrong and having to fix it, only to discover that she'd done something _else_ wrong in the process. But this time she couldn't figure out for the life of her what she had done.

Faramir was just finishing the tale of Frodo's 'escape' from Osgiliath when a young Gondorian soldier ran up to the group of them and saluted, bowing low with his fist over his heart.

"Lord Faramir, Lord Boromir! Lord Denethor wishes to see you immediately. He has requested that you bring your… companion as well."

The young man glanced at Mel and then quickly away, so she could only assume he meant her. She felt the blood drain from her face. Denethor had requested her presence. Specifically. She swallowed and tried not to look as scared as she felt, but she caught Pippin staring at her, his brow furrowed curiously. She smiled at him, but she knew it was a weak smile.

Boromir nodded to the soldier, "Tell him we will join him shortly."

The young man bowed and ran off again. Gandalf turned Shadowfax aside.

"We will leave you to your business for now," Gandalf said, putting a hand on Pippin's shoulder when he looked like he might protest, "But later, we will have much to discuss."

He gave Mel a quick, but very deliberate glance before he turned away down a small side alleyway. Pippin turned around and waved at her, and Mel waved back, but it felt half-hearted. She would have loved to go with them. Wherever they were going, it had to be better than what was waiting for her.

"So he did survive." Boromir murmured.

Mel shrugged, "Well, technically he died and came back, but…"

She stopped and glanced up at his impassive face.

"I told you he was alive. Didn't you believe me?"

Boromir met her gaze with a steady, but unreadable expression.

"Of course, I believed you. You have never lied to me."

"I'm afraid I am confused and my brother's manners seem to have deteriorated in his absence," Faramir said, breaking Mel's eye contact with Boromir, "So, _you_ are the Lady Melody? Or should I call you Mel as the halflings do?"

He grinned at her and Mel managed to match his smile, almost despite herself.

"Just Mel is fine."

Faramir placed a hand over his heart, bowing over his saddle.

"Then it is certainly an honor to meet you, Mel. Your little friends spoke well of you."

Mel found herself pleasantly surprised.

"Frodo and Sam… They told you about _me_?"

"They had nothing but glowing words of praise for the brave lady who traveled with them and aided in their quest. They were concerned by the rumors which surrounded…"

He broke off and his eyes darted to Boromir for the briefest of moments, before he began again.

"They were most concerned with your fate. I hope that you may soon see them again and ease their troubled minds."

Mel bit her bottom lip and did everything in her power not to do as Faramir had done and glance at Boromir. Frodo had last seen her standing off against him, wrapped in madness and fury. She could understand why the hobbits might have been concerned.

"I hope so too." she said, trying her best to sound cheerful and optimistic.

"If you are both quite finished?" Boromir interrupted, his tone short, "Father demands an audience. I do not think it wise to keep him waiting."

Without pausing for a reply, Boromir turned his horse and started up the main road, leaving Mel and Faramir to catch up. As they made their way up through the different city levels, Mel was cordially greeted by trees that stood guard in pairs at every gate. She smiled and silently returned their formal greetings as discreetly as she could. No need to advertise that she was talking to trees.

The men riding with her were silent. Boromir did not even look at her, keeping to the front and not even bothering to check if she was even following. If it weren't for Faramir, Mel got the feeling she could have slipped off down a side road and so avoided the coming confrontation altogether. But Faramir remained by her side, his brow creased as he stared at his brother's stiff spine, as if puzzled. Good, at least Mel wasn't the only one.

After several moments of silence, Faramir finally said, "Boromir, you can't possibly expect to present our friend Mel to the Steward of Gondor looking like this."

He gestured to her face and Mel stared at him for a second, confused. When she reached up to touch her cheek, her fingers came away sticky and black. She grimaced. She was covered in orc blood. She must look horrific! Faramir smiled kindly and pulled a large mostly-white handkerchief out of his tunic

"Here," he said, offering it to her, "It won't substitute for a proper wash, but it should help."

"Oh God no, look at me!" Mel protested, even as Faramir pressed the cloth into her hand, "I'll ruin it!"

"Keep it, I have more."

Realizing she'd been left with the handkerchief in her hand and no choice in the matter, she sighed and managed a grateful smile.

"Thanks."

Boromir hadn't even turned around. Mel watched his rigid back as she tried to wipe the gunk off her face. What had she done to deserve the cold shoulder?

"Where do you hail from originally, Mel? Elf maiden you are not, but your fighting style speaks of an elven teacher."

Mel turned her eyes back to Faramir, but she was distracted so it took her a minute to pull her answer together.

"Uh, Rivendell. I'm from Rivendell."

"So you have never seen our city?"

Mel shook her head, "Nope, I've never been to Gondor in my life."

At least that much was true.

Faramir tilted his head to the side, "Your accent puzzles me. I don't believe I've ever heard a dialect quite like it."

"Well, I'm pretty unique."

Mel glanced at Boromir's back, but he didn't even acknowledge that they were speaking. Mel was clearly fielding questions on her own today.

"You didn't grow up in Imladris." Faramir said.

He wasn't asking, he knew. Mel decided to go with the short answer.

"That's right, I didn't."

Faramir looked at her, obviously waiting for her to elaborate. She just smiled and turned away, hoping that was enough to close the subject. For a nerve-wracking minute she could still see him out of the corner of her eye, staring at her, but then he shook his head and turned away as well. Crisis averted for now. Mel resisted the urge to sigh with relief.

They finally reached a large wooden gate, larger than any of the others before it, set into elaborately carved stone. They dismounted and guards materialized to lead away their horses. The gates swung open and Mel was given her first glimpse of the Citadel. The sun shining on the white walls almost blinded her. She followed the two brothers' confident strides, taking in as much of the bright courtyard as possible.

That was why she didn't see the tree until they were almost on top of it. When she did see it, she couldn't help but stop and stare. The stark white branches reached up like they would pierce the sky. The trunk twisted and bent like it had been caught in a fierce wind too long as it grew up. And Mel heard absolutely nothing from it. The White Tree of Gondor was silent.

She took two steps toward it before she was stopped by a guard's raised hand. He was dressed all in black with a helmet in the shape of an eagle and he stared down at her with cold unfeeling eyes.

"Let her pass."

Boromir's voice behind her made Mel jump and she turned to look back at him. He was staring at her, but his eyes were carefully guarded.

"On my honor, she means no harm. Let her pass."

The guard hesitated, his eyes shifting between Mel and Boromir, but he finally stepped aside. Mel approached the tree carefully, reverently, gazing up into its branches, waiting for some acknowledgment of her presence, some sign that it knew she was there. But there was nothing. Slowly, she reached out and pressed her palm to the thin white bark. She closed her eyes and dug deep, the way she had searched the tree on the banks of the Watcher's lake. But all she could see was darkness.

"Can you save it?"

Boromir's voice was close by her ear. She sighed and opened her eyes.

"There's nothing to save." she whispered.

"You saved the other by the lake."

"That tree was sick. There's nothing left here, Boromir. It's dead." She turned and looked up at him, "I would save it if I could."

He stared down at her for a moment, studying her face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered finally, "That the Ring would cross my brother's path?"

Mel stared at him, surprised. Was… was that all?

"I... I didn't think it mattered, I guess. It never really came up."

Boromir dropped his eyes.

"Faramir is the stronger man. I have always known this in my heart. But my father has ever placed me before him. As the eldest I am supposed to be the strongest. I am the one that Gondor must rely on to defend her. How can I do that when I cannot even defend myself? My younger brother would rule better than..."

Boromir's head jerked up suddenly, staring at her with eyes filled with the shock of a revelation a long time coming.

"By the stars," he whispered, "If I had died... If you hadn't come... Faramir..."

Mel didn't know what to say. She just nodded. Boromir passed a hand over his eyes.

"Of course… I've been such a fool."

"Father is waiting."

Faramir stood just outside of the grass circle that contained the tree, his hand resting on his sword hilt, still looking tired and worn. Boromir glanced at his brother and then looked intently into Mel's eyes.

"Does he rule with honor?"

Mel grinned, "Of course. He's your brother."

Boromir returned her smile, "And what of me? Do you think I will rule with honor?"

"That's up to you," Mel said, "But everyone deserves a second chance. I wish you would stop questioning yours long enough to live it."

Boromir dropped his eyes and his fingers brushed her hand, not quite taking it in his.

"Perhaps. But I fear these doubts will always haunt my thoughts."

"Boromir."

Mel jumped and Boromir dropped his hand back to his side.

"Of course, Faramir, we're coming."

Mel followed him out of the green circle to join Faramir on the path. But as the brothers mounted the wide steps, she paused and looked back at the dead tree. A little bit of the dread she had felt in the Nazgul's scream trickled down her spine, but she shook it away. Compared to the Nazgul, meeting Denethor was nothing. Right? So why did she feel like she was walking into a trap? She wanted Boromir's hand in hers again, but that was silly and selfish. She was just being paranoid. If she could just get through this, everything would be fine. Mel took a deep, silent breath, and walked into the throne room.

The room was long and unusually dark after the blinding brilliance of the courtyard. It took Mel's eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom. She made sure to keep behind the brothers, following in their shadows, secretly hoping they would hide her from view for just a few seconds longer. She wanted to keep attention off herself for as long as possible, at least until she got a feel for what she was dealing with. What would Denethor's reaction be? Shock? Disbelief? Anger?

She didn't have to wait long for her answer. Before they had crossed half the length of the room, a figure in long, black robes leapt from the Steward's chair and came running toward them, arms flung wide. Mel could see it was an older man and she didn't need three guesses to figure out who it was. When he reached them, Denethor threw his arms around Boromir's neck.

"My son, my son…" he said, over and over again, as if trying to convince himself of the reality of Boromir's existence, "…my son, my son…"

Mel hung back while Boromir hugged his father, just watching. Denethor wasn't anything like she had expected. She had pictured an ugly, sour-looking man, helped in part by the actor that played him in the movies, but in reality he looked very much like his two sons. Older of course, with gray hair and lines on his face creased from worry, but in a way he really was very handsome. Mel could actually see how he might have convinced a woman to marry him in his youth.

Denethor finally managed to pull himself away from Boromir, but he was still staring into his son's face with a look of indescribable joy and relief.

"My son, my dear boy, how is it possible? I received news of your death and it tore my heart from me."

"Father, who brought you such news? What did they tell you?" Boromir asked, his face lined with concern, but Denethor simply waved it away.

"It no longer matters now that I see you alive and well and safely home again. Hope lives in Gondor yet!"

He clasped Boromir's shoulders enthusiastically, his face bright and his eyes shining. Mel shifted, trying to stay in the shadow of one of the pillars close by and Denethor's eyes flitted toward the movement. Mel froze under his stare. She felt that cold trickle of dread again and swallowed, trying to force it away, but it persisted. The light in the Steward's eyes changed in the span of a millisecond, the warmth sapped away leaving only a cold, calculating void. His smile hardened on his face.

"Is this the one then?" he asked, in a carefully crafted tone, "Is this the woman that traveled with you from Rivendell? The cause of the strange reports from the mountain posts?"

Denethor let go of Boromir and took a few steps toward her. Mel had to resist the urge to step back. He wasn't just walking. He stalked toward her like a cat, his eyes glowing with that familiar need, the desperation of a man whose world was crumbling and the power to hold it together just within his grasp. Boromir turned and smiled, oblivious to the change Mel could see in his father.

"Yes, Father," he said, sounding pleased, "This is the Lady Melody of Rivendell."

"Indeed?"

Denethor took a few more deliberate steps toward her. Mel swallowed hard, but held her ground. She wanted to look at Boromir, to tell him with her eyes what was happening, but she was afraid to take her eyes off the Steward, even for a second.

"And to what does she owe her power, this witchcraft of the forest? A trinket from Rivendell perhaps? A tool of the Enemy turned to our purposes?"

He was in front of her now, looming over her as only men of power could. Mel's heart was pounding in her chest. She was terrified, involuntarily cowering under him. Denethor reached up and gently cupped her chin, lifting her face as if to see her better. It took every ounce of strength she had left not to cringe or shudder. She desperately wished for Boromir to put a stop to this. But it was not Boromir who saved her.

"The woman does not possess the Dark Lord's Ring, Father," Faramir said, materializing at her side, "By now the tool of the Enemy is far beyond our reach."

Denethor glared at his younger son, his grip on Mel's chin tightening in his anger.

"Do not speak of things you know nothing about!" he hissed.

"Father, she possesses a power all her own," Boromir said, coming to stand at his father's side, "The Dark Ring is gone from us, destined for the black pit from whence it came."

Denethor looked at his eldest son, his brow furrowed. Then he looked at Mel, his eyes piercing hers.

"Do they speak the truth, woman?" He turned her head sharply and examined her profile, "Have both my sons failed to bring me that which I asked?"

He pulled her head back so she was facing him again. She could see the anger burning in his eyes, but the desperation had vanished. He believed his sons. He knew she didn't have the Ring he was after. He just wanted to hear her say it. She clenched her jaw, anger replacing her fear.

"Your sons have protected this country and its people from a power so dark it would destroy us all. In exchange, they have brought you someone who wants more than anything to help this city. You'll have to judge for yourself whether they've failed, Lord Denethor."

The Steward held her chin for another moment. Then he released her and stepped back, his face transforming instantaneously into something harmless, almost pleasant.

"She has a sharp tongue on her, Boromir," he said, with a hint of amusement, "Be careful you don't get cut by it."

Boromir was now at her side, so close they were just a breath away from touching, staring at his father with an unreadable expression. Denethor only smiled, either oblivious or willfully ignoring the tension in the room.

"So you bring back a woman? I might not have known her to be of the fairer sex had I not heard the tales. Perhaps Lady Melody would like a chance to… prepare for dinner while we discuss recent events. I would hear of your journey, Boromir. You have been away much longer than I had anticipated and I imagine you have much to tell."

Boromir glanced at Mel and she got the feeling that the last thing he wanted to do right now was let her out of his sight. But the last thing Mel wanted to do was spend another second in Denethor's presence. She was also really hoping that 'prepare for dinner' was polite-speak for 'take a bath and get clean clothes', because that sounded like the closest thing to heaven on earth right now. So Mel smiled at Boromir and put a hand on his arm while she met his father's eye.

"I think I'd like that, thank you."

Denethor's face brightened and he motioned toward one of the dark recesses of the hall. A servant girl in a plain cotton dress emerged and curtsied before the Steward.

"Show the young lady to a spare chamber and draw her a bath. Then arrange for fittings and decent clothes. She is our honored guest and anything she requests is to be hers, understood?"

"Yes, my lord." the girl replied softly. Her eyes never left the floor and her honey colored hair hid most of her face.

Denethor grinned at Mel as if everything were just as it should be.

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Melody. My son obviously holds you in high regard. I look forward to hearing his reasons for such devotion."

Mel smiled, but all she wanted was to get out of there. She nodded her head in acknowledgment of the Steward, and then turned to follow the servant girl. But someone grabbed her elbow and she jumped, whirling around defensively. It was only Boromir.

"May I have the honor of escorting you to dinner this evening?"

His eyes searched hers intently and she realized that this was merely a formality. Even if she had wanted to say no he would be there anyway. He just had to ask her permission now that they were back in polite society. She smiled, but there was a tightness in her chest. They had to follow the rules now.

"Yes, of course."

He relaxed a little and even managed a small smile before he released her arm. Mel turned and followed the servant into the small dark alcove, through a hidden door, and out of the throne room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Denethor... I am interested in your thoughts ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! I asked for feedback and you guys delivered! Thank you all so much, I'm really glad that you're all enjoying my characters so far! It's always a little nerve-wracking for me, introducing my take on the original characters. I'm constantly working to make sure that they stay in character as much as possible in the context of the story. I try never to do anything with the characters without some kind of explanation or motivation. Please let me know if something bothers you or I get something wrong, I will do my best to either explain better, or fix it :) Thank you all again!

Mel was led silently through the halls of the Citadel, still trying to get over the creepy-crawlies shivering down her arms and giving her goosebumps. Denethor's eyes were embedded in her brain, not because she'd thought she was in any serious danger, but because they were Boromir's eyes. Seeing that cold, calculating expression in those familiar gray eyes creeped her out more than anything. She didn't know what Boromir would tell his father about her power, but she hoped he would be smart enough to leave out the fact it was attached to a ring. She caught herself fingering the Yavannacor absently and forced her hands to her sides. She needed to draw as little attention to it as possible.

She was so deep in thought that when the servant girl stopped in front of her, Mel almost ran into her.

"You will stay here," the girl said quietly, pulling out a set of keys and unlocking the door in front of her, "It is reserved for traveling dignitaries. The Steward and his sons are only a few corridors away."

The girl opened the door and stepped back, allowing Mel to peek inside. It was a fantastic room. A four poster bed stood to one side, made up in green silk with green gauzy curtains fluttering in a slight breeze. Light poured in from the tall windows that flanked each side of an open stone archway. Mel walked in and poked her head outside. There was a patio that opened onto a small garden. A narrow gravel path circled a simple stone fountain and lined the edge of the green grass next to the wall that looked out over the city. She pulled back inside the room and noticed a tapestry hanging on the opposite wall next to the door. It depicted a garden like the one outside, but much larger and more elaborate. There was a woman with dark flowing hair and perfect pale skin, eyes greener than the grass and trees surrounding her. Other women, smaller but just as perfectly formed, danced about her feet, but the woman in the center commanded the attention of the entire picture.

"The Valier, Yavanna."

Mel jumped at the sound of the servant girl's timid voice. She was also staring at the tapestry.

"This room was dedicated to her honor and those that serve her, many years ago," The girl glanced up at her, then quickly dropped her eyes again, "I will have a bath drawn for you in the other room, my lady. Do you require a change of clothes?"

Mel shook her head, "No, I have something in my bag."

The girl curtsied, "Then I will leave you and return with the seamstress."

"Thank you." Mel said.

The girl looked up startled, her blue eyes wide. Then she turned and hurried out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. Mel sighed and threw her bag onto the bed. She pulled off her boots and wriggled her toes for a minute in the thick green carpet that she guessed was probably supposed to imitate grass. It felt nice on her sore feet. She opened the huge wardrobe that stood opposite the king-sized bed and hung her cloak inside. She stood back and admired it a moment, hanging all alone in the empty wardrobe. The cloak was the only thing she owned not marred by tears or stains. It was pristine, hanging in that closet like it belonged there. Not for the first time, she thought it had to be magic, some kind of elven magic from Rivendell. She wouldn't have been surprised if Elrohir himself hadn't done something to it. She smiled and shut the door, then dug in her bag for the plain cotton dress from Edoras. She laid it across the bed, and immediately regretted the decision. Next to the beautiful green sheets it looked even more plain, but she knew she didn't have anything else. It would have to do.

She could hear water being poured behind a small side door, steam starting to seep from under it. Mel unstrapped her sword and leaned it carefully next to the wardrobe. She didn't really feel comfortable without it anymore and even briefly considered taking it in the other room with her, then wondered if that thought should concern her. After all, if someone attacked her while she was naked in the bath, she doubted she would be in a state of mind to think about using it. She really was getting paranoid.

She grabbed her cotton dress and opened the side door. A small room lay beyond with not much more than a tub of water in it. A different servant girl looked up from testing the water, then stood and curtsied.

"You're bath is ready, my lady."

"Thank you." Mel said again.

This girl didn't start like the other, but she did stare at Mel curiously before she hurried out of the room. Mel locked the door behind her and stripped out of her icky clothes. And they were _icky_ , more icky than she had thought until she was out of them. Sweat, blood and layers of grime covered every inch of her, not to mention all the tears and holes. She tossed the clothes in a corner and hoped someone had the good sense to burn them. Then she lowered herself into the hot water and scrubbed every inch of herself twice, washing her hair three times for good measure. By the time she was done, the water was getting cold. She got out and dried herself off, then pulled the dress over her head and walked out into the sunshine of her room.

"Merciful heavens, what _are_ you wearing?!"

Mel jumped. A tall, spindly woman with gray hair pulled into a tight bun stood in the middle of her room, hands on her hips, scowling at her. Mel looked down to see if maybe she had the dress on backward or something, but she didn't see anything wrong with it. She looked back up at the woman, speechless. The woman eyed her critically and then sighed, obviously exasperated, and waved for Mel to come closer. When Mel didn't move instantly, the woman huffed.

"My dear young lady, do you want to look like a peasant or do you want to look like a queen? Get over here." she ordered.

This time Mel didn't hesitate, more worried about the woman's wrath than her own appearance. The woman pointed to a stool.

"Up."

Mel obeyed and the woman took a rod out of a pocket of her dress and started measuring, muttering to herself all the while. Mel could barely make out what she said she was talking so fast, but she caught something about 'no time', 'peasant nonsense', and she heard the word 'ridiculous' several times. But once she had poked and prodded and measured for a good five minutes, she snapped up and her face looked much less pessimistic.

"I'll have you a dress in time for dinner," she announced, "And five more by tomorrow morning."

With that she whirled on her heel and strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her with such force that Mel winced. It wasn't until the seamstress was long gone that Mel realized that she had only mentioned dresses. While Mel liked dresses just fine, she was going to need at least one pair of pants and a shirt. She couldn't use a sword in a dress. As this thought flitted through her mind, there was a quiet knock on the door. Mel opened it cautiously, nervous about what might be waiting on the other side, but it was only the first servant girl, carrying an assortment of slippers.

"Begging your pardon, my lady, but the seamstress wanted these delivered to you immediately. She said they would match the dresses she's preparing for you."

Mel smiled and let her in.

"Since you're here," Mel said, "Do you think you'll be going back to the seamstress today?"

The girl nodded, "I believe so, my lady. Was there something else you required?"

"Do you think you could ask her to make sure to send me a shirt and and some pants? I'll need them for sword practice and my old clothes weren't really worth much anymore."

The girl nodded again as she crouched in front of the wardrobe and began arranging the slippers.

"Of course, my lady. Anything you wish."

Mel watched the girl for a few seconds, but the silence was soon too much for her.

"Am I going to be seeing a lot of you?"

The girl never looked up from her work.

"I am to make sure that you feel welcome and that your stay is comfortable. If I am bothering you, I can leave."

"No!" Mel said quickly, "No, I… I didn't mean it like that. It's just that if I'm going to be seeing you around a lot, I thought we might introduce ourselves. I'm Mel."

The girl glanced up from the floor, then went back to arranging.

"Yes, you are Lady Melody of Rivendell."

"No, see, that's not… I don't go by that name most of the time. You can just call me Mel."

This time, the girl looked up and stared at her skeptically for several seconds.

"Just… Mel?"

Mel nodded once decisively, crossing her arms to add to the emphasis.

"That's right. What should I call you?"

The girl thought about this for a moment. Then she stood, hands held primly behind her back and her chin up, looking Mel dead in the eye like she was testing her.

"My name is Loriel."

Mel smiled and held out her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Loriel."

The girl tilted her head to the side, but she took Mel's offered hand firmly.

"It is a pleasure, Mel. I was warned you might be difficult, but I confess I never expected this."

"Difficult?" Mel asked, "Why would I be difficult?"

"You have power. Everyone knows that those with power demand much and give little." Loriel jerked back slightly, her eyes wide as if shocked at her own words, "Not that you would be like that at all, begging your pardon, my lady."

Mel waved away her apologies.

"It's okay, you don't have to be sorry. I'm nobody important, it's not like I'm any different than you."

Loriel stared at her like she was crazy.

"You… My lady forgive me, but you have lived among elves. It is said that you possess the power to command the forests. And you have the favor of Lord Boromir. You are his honored guest. There are many who would do anything for just an hour in his company and you have spent months with him. You _are_ different, Mel."

Mel opened her mouth, but found she had nothing to say. She hadn't thought… about any of that. Loriel dropped her eyes and straightened her skirt.

"It is a few hours yet before dinner is served. You should rest. I will come when your dress is ready."

She hurried out of the room and Mel watched her go, wondering about what she had said. Obviously word of her power and where she had come from was spreading, and the word wasn't good news. She was going to have her work cut out for her, digging herself out from under the rumors that already surrounded her. Mel flopped back onto the bed, suddenly feeling exhausted. Maybe she should just close her eyes for a minute. She wouldn't go to sleep, she had too much to think about, too much to plan, but she could just rest her eyes. Just for a...

* * *

She was startled awake by the soft knock on her door. She grabbed for her sword, only to realize she'd left it next to the wardrobe across the room. It took her a few more blinks to remember where she was. Gondor, Minas Tirith, the Citadel. She sighed and sat up, rubbing her eyes. It was much darker in her room than she remembered. The light outside was a soft gold. She had slept all afternoon.

The soft knock repeated itself, followed by a muted call.

"Lady Melody? Mel? May I come in?"

Mel swung out of bed and shuffled across the floor, still rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Loriel stood outside the door, holding a package draped across her arms.

"Your dress has arrived." Loriel said, smiling.

Mel held open the door and waved her in. The girl practically bounced into the room, Mel following groggily behind. Loriel laid the package out on the bed and began unwrapping it carefully.

"Mistress Rosemiren is the best in the city, she has made dresses for royal dignitaries in the past, everything she makes is so splendid, I'm sure you'll be pleased…"

Mel realized as Loriel babbled that this was the happiest she'd heard her. It was also the first time she'd seen her smile. Mel watched over the girl's shoulder as Loriel carefully untied each string on the package and gently unfolded each piece of paper that held the dress. There were several layers of the packing paper, but Loriel took her time, treating each layer as gently as if it were the dress itself. Finally, the girl stepped back with a satisfied sigh to survey her work.

Nestled in layers of brown paper was a green, satin, floor-length creation, gold vines embroidered on the hem, across the scoop neckline, and down the three quarter sleeves. The waist was belted with thin gold wire, twined and also sporting golden leaves.

"She also sent this," Loriel said, picking out a thin circle of gold and emerald from the nest of papers, "We can arrange it in your hair if you'd like. And the gold slippers will look lovely."

Mel watched the girl's face glow. She smiled.

"I'd like that, I think. Would you mind helping me?"

Loriel's face brightened even more.

"Of course, my lady! Come, let's get you into the dress first."

For the next half hour, Loriel primped and fussed over Mel. She took great care lowering the dress over Mel's head, so as to put as few wrinkles as possible in the satin. She found the slippers she had been talking about, then she set to work combing and arranging the little bit of hair Mel had left. This was the most miserable part for Mel, but Loriel didn't seem in the least bit discouraged. She made only one comment when she first took the hair in her hands.

"Why would you keep such lovely hair so short?"

Mel hesitated.

"It's a long story."

Loriel caught Mel's eyes in the mirror of wash table, and didn't say another word. In fact, she acted as if the question had never been asked. Instead she fussed and pulled and fluffed as if she had been working with hair this length all her life. She ran some kind of oil through the curls to make them shine and then nestled the circle of gold and emeralds perfectly among them. She added a touch of rouge and something from a pot that moistened Mel's lips, but didn't add any noticeable color. Mel appreciated that she didn't try to overdo what passed for make-up here. After months in the wilderness, out of time and place, she thought that make-up might be a little too strong. In fact, she was wondering if it were a good idea at all and was just about to ask Loriel if she could take it all off again, when there was a firm knock on her door.

She jumped up, knocking over her chair and nearly knocking into Loriel. She put her hand over her mouth.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" she said, picking up the chair and touching Loriel's arm, "Are you ok? I didn't hit you did I?"

But Loriel just smiled and brushed at her dress.

"I'm fine, Mel. You were expecting someone, I imagine?" She curtsied, "It would be my pleasure to act as your lady-in-waiting and receive your visitor."

Mel relaxed a little and squeezed the girl's arm.

"Thank you."

Loriel touched her shoulder tentatively.

"It really is my pleasure to serve you, Melody of Rivendell."

Then she turned and nearly skipped to open the door. But her radiant grin faltered and she quickly fell into a low curtsy.

"My lord, forgive me, the lady did not tell me she was expecting you."

She glanced quickly at Mel and Mel didn't like what she saw. Fear. She shouldn't be afraid of Boromir. Mel took a few steps toward the door, but Loriel had already risen.

"I shall leave you, of course. Good night, my lord."

Then Loriel hurried out of the room, leaving the door open in her wake. Mel swallowed and took a hesitant step around it.

Denethor stood in the hallway.

"Well, well," he said, smiling pleasantly, "Don't you look splendid?"


	4. Chapter 4

Mel was frozen in the doorway. All she could do was stare. Her mouth was dry, her stomach felt like it was going to come up her throat, and once her heart started beating again it felt like it might hammer its way out of her chest. She kept her hand on the door to make sure she didn't just slide right down to the floor.

Denethor stood in the hallway, assessing her calmly, that innocent smile on his face. He was no longer wearing black, but royal blue robes with silver hemming and white fur lining. The clothes looked odd on him, festive which she hadn't expected. Then again, he wasn't in mourning, why would he wear black? Maybe this was what he wore every day.

The Steward finally finished measuring her up, but one look at her face and his features rearranged into an expression of genuine concern.

"My dear young lady, you look so pale. Are you feeling well?"

Mel swallowed and took a sharp breath through her nose.

"Sorry, you surprised me. I thought you were someone else."

Denethor nodded, almost apologetically.

"My son was supposed to meet you, of course. You must forgive Boromir, there was an urgent matter I wished him to attend to and I assured him I would be only too happy to escort you in his place."

The Steward held out his hand and Mel had to fight the urge to flinch.

"Shall we?"

She hesitated. She impulsively wished for her sword, but quickly dismissed the thought. She didn't think Denethor would try to hurt her using conventional means. He was a clever man. If he wanted to hurt her, he would use his mind rather than his strength and a sword would be useless against an attack like that. Besides, if his sons were anything to judge by, she would be horribly outmatched in a test of swordsmanship anyway.

She steeled herself and put her hand in his. It was warm and his fingers wrapped around hers gently before he pulled her out into the hallway and shut the door behind her. The thud sounded ominous in Mel's ears, but of course she was a little freaked out. Denethor smiled and carefully tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. She resisted the urge to pull away. They started a slow stroll down the hallway.

"I must tell you," Denethor said, "There was another reason I asked my son to allow me the pleasure of your company."

Mel's whole body tensed, but she took a deep breath and looked up at the Steward as casually as she could.

"And what would that be, Lord Denethor?"

"I think I might have frightened you today and I wish to apologize."

His abrupt confession startled her. She stared at him, but he didn't seem to notice.

"My behavior must have seemed odd to you, perhaps even hostile," he continued, staring ahead down the hallway, "After what my son tells me you have been through, I do not blame you for your fear. But I wish to assure you," He turned so he could meet her eyes, "I meant no harm to you. You are the guest of my son and he holds you in the highest regard. You will be treated as an honored guest of this family for as long as you are here."

He smiled, but Mel wasn't exactly convinced. His words were eloquent, his face the picture of repentance and friendship, but Mel got the feeling that he wouldn't be apologizing to her unless there were something in it for him. Maybe she was being unfair, maybe she was allowing her previous knowledge to cloud her judgment, but she knew that, despite his reassurances, she would still be keeping an eye on the Steward of Gondor. For now though, she smiled back.

"Thank you, my lord." she murmured, dipping her head politely.

He seemed pleased that she had accepted his apology.

"Now then, tell me a little more about yourself. Have you lived long in Imladris?"

Mel's guard went up like a wall.

"A while."

"And before?"

This would be tricky.

"I came from the forest."

It was true. She had been found in the forest, so technically she guessed that's where she came from.

"You're parents were woodsmen?" he asked, without so much as a blink.

Mel figured that sounded as good as any lie she could come up with, so she nodded.

"But I remember very little of them. They died when I was young and the elves took me in."

"Boromir tells me you have the Sight."

Mel jerked slightly, startled. It wasn't something she had expected Boromir to tell him. What else did he know?

"You could say that. But that gift has become… sort of unreliable."

"But I hear your other gift has not."

He glanced down at her and Mel caught a glint of something cold and calculating. They had finally reached the heart of the discussion.

"No, my lord, my connection to the trees has not weakened at all."

"I have heard many strange things about you, Melody of Rivendell," he said, "Some whisper that you are a witch, a servant of a dark master."

"And what about you, Lord Denethor?" she asked, looking him in the eye, "What would happen if everyone believed the rumors that are whispered behind your back?"

He looked down at her curiously. Then he grinned and this time it reached his eyes. He inclined his head to her.

"Well met, my lady, well met indeed. If everyone believed every rumor and rambling of crazed men we would all lose our minds."

Mel wasn't entirely sure if she should be happy that Denethor seemed so pleased with her answer, but she tried to smile anyway.

"Of course," Denethor went on, "One cannot help but wonder how power such as yours has come to one so young. It must come from somewhere, don't you agree?"

Mel dropped her eyes and used every bit of her self control to keep from fidgeting.

"I only know that I was chosen, Lord Denethor, and until the reason is revealed to me I'm just trying to do what I think is the right thing," She looked up at him, "I'm here to help as much as I can."

Denethor's smile turned rigid.

"Ah, yes, you say that you would help defend our city. I am interested to know how you think your power could possibly make a difference against the army that even now rises against us," He looked down at her with disdain, "I have seen this army. A single person could not hope to stand against them, much less a woman barely out of girlhood."

Something in Mel's mind twitched. Something was wrong with what he'd just said or how he'd said it, something that caught at the back of her consciousness and hung there, fluttering just out of reach. But she didn't have time to analyze it right now. The Steward was obviously waiting for some brilliant response and she didn't have one to give him. How did she expect to be any help defending this city? She could barely defend herself. She didn't know battle tactics or have any skills that might be of any help at all. All she could do was talk to trees. So small, so insignificant… what could she possibly do?

She turned her eyes back to the floor, "I don't know, my lord. But if I can help, I will."

Denethor smirked and they walked on in silence. Mel wasn't sure what to say. Her mind was racing, but not going much of anywhere. Not for the first time, she wished Boromir was there.

They approached a set of large double doors, guarded by two men at arms. They were dressed in gold and blue with the White Tree emblazoned on their chests. Guards of the Citadel. As the Steward approached, the guards each took one of the doors and pushed them inward in a grand gesture.

The room was large, too large for the amount of people inside, about a dozen men in different uniforms. They were seated at a large table in the front of the room, the only table of many that was set for dinner. A large roast pig and platters of vegetables and breads were set out. Mel recognized Gandalf and Faramir, but the other men in the room were strangers to her. Boromir wasn't there. Denethor led her forward and the conversation stopped. The men stood, staring as they crossed the hall. Mel felt very self-conscious. What was she doing here? She didn't belong here any more than she belonged with the elves.

"I do hope you don't object to keeping an old man company at the dinner table, Lady Melody," Denethor said.

Mel stared at him and the words left her mouth almost as soon as she thought them.

"There are a lot of words I would use to describe you Lord Denethor, but old isn't one of them."

Denethor laughed out loud at that, a deep, brash sound that took Mel by surprise. A lot of things about the Steward were not what she had expected.

"You are too kind, dear girl, much too kind. After keeping the company of my son for so long, I hope that I don't seem a bore to you."

"Boring is another word I would never use to describe you, my lord," she answered and she meant it, though not necessarily as a compliment.

He laughed again as he led her to the table. His laughter seemed to have relaxed the group. The lords (that's what they were, they had to be), leaned their heads together in murmured conversation. The only one still watching them closely was Gandalf and Mel couldn't interpret his stare, enigmatic as always. Damn wizards.

Faramir smiled as they passed, looking cleaner and much more rested than when she'd last seen him.

"Well met again, Mel, and under considerably better circumstances."

Mel smiled back, "I think any circumstances would be better than the circumstances we met under, Lord Faramir."

He inclined his head to her, "Indeed so."

He was seated two seats to the right of the center chair, but he pulled out a chair for her just to the left of the center, next to Gandalf. Denethor released her arm and allowed her to be seated. The men all followed her lead. She managed a small smile for the wizard, which Gandalf met with a nod.

"Good evening, Mel."

"Hello again." she said, trying not to sound nervous.

Denethor took up his wine goblet and the men fell silent.

"Tonight we gather to celebrate hope. Even in the face of evil, despite the cleverness of the Enemy and the darkness of the hour, hope still lives in Gondor and in the Men who defend her, as it has lived for generations before them," the Steward raised his glass, "May it live on for countless generations more. To hope and a new day!"

A chorus of voices echoed his toast and everyone sipped from their glasses. Mel tasted her wine. It was rich and fruity and she quickly put it down. Best to sip that stuff carefully. Denethor lowered his glass and sat next to Mel. There was an empty chair between him and Faramir, and it drew Mel's attention. Where was Boromir?

A servant appeared and began carving the roast pig. He first served the Steward, then Faramir, then he turned to Mel.

"My lady?" he said politely, indicating the piece he was cutting.

Mel was so nervous, she didn't know what she should do. She didn't want to look like an idiot. She decided it would be safest to treat this like Thanksgiving at her grandmother's house. Super-polite and as quiet as possible. She smiled and picked up her plate. Her hands were shaking. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, but she needn't have bothered. The servant took her plate from her and served her a portion, then set it on the table again.

"Thank you." she said automatically.

The servant started and glanced at her, but quickly recovered and moved on to the next dinner guest. Denethor glanced at her as well, but said nothing. Mel dropped her eyes. This was getting ridiculous. Was it considered a faux pas to be polite around here? She decided she needed another sip of her wine.

"To business, my lords," Denethor said, once again effortlessly commanding the attention of the entire table, "We have troubling news from the East. My sons tell me that the Enemy has crossed the river and overrun Osgiliath. We must decide whether to send fresh troops to the eastern border to reclaim the crossing, or to maintain our own defenses here in the capital."

"The force crossing the Anduin is great," Faramir said, addressing the other lords, "Many thousands strong and more arriving even as we retreated. The Nazgul were present as well, leading the forces of Sauron forward. I believe that any attempt at regaining the city of Osgiliath would be an unnecessary risk and my brother agrees with me."

"Perhaps the Lord Boromir would like to speak for himself. Where is your long lost son, Lord Denethor?" one of the lords asked. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his dark hair graying a little at the temples, and gray eyes that leaned more toward blue.

"My son seems to be running a bit late this evening," Denethor said politely, but with a hard edge to his voice, "Perhaps, Lord Hurin, you would like to scold him when he appears."

Lord Hurin lowered his eyes and took a sip from his goblet, but didn't reply.

"Perhaps the young lady can tell us," said another of the lords, making Mel jump. This was an older, larger man, almost fat, with a gray beard and sparkling eyes the exact same color. He leaned over Gandalf and grinned at her, "You are his companion, are you not?"

Mel swallowed, "I… traveled with him, yes. But I haven't seen him since this morning when we rode into the city."

She clasped her hands under the table so no one would see her shaking.

"Well then, perhaps Lord Denethor could tell us what exactly you're doing here," The first lord, Lord Hurin, said, "Bringing a lady to a council of war is highly unusual."

"She is here at my request."

Mel's heart leapt and everyone turned to the doors. Boromir strode across the room, dressed in a blue and silver tunic emblazoned with the white tree of Gondor.

"You would do well not to underestimate her, my lords. She is far more than she appears."

He came around the table and bowed to Denethor before he sat in the empty chair.

"Forgive me, Father, I was delayed. There is much to be done."

Denethor nodded, his expression brighter in his son's presence, "Of course. We were just discussing the situation in Osgiliath."

"The situation is as grim as they say and more so," Boromir said, sweeping his gaze around the table, "Orcs crawl through the city streets like rats, arming themselves and preparing for a march on Minas Tirith."

"Which is why we should attack them now, while they are still disorganized!" said another of the lords, a younger man whose eyes glinted with eagerness.

"I agree with Dervorin," said another, the only lord with hair that wasn't dark. It was a sandy blonde and his eyes were bright blue. He was also the only one at the table besides Mel wearing green, "We should attack the forces of Mordor while they are still in preparation. Perhaps we will have the chance to beat them back while they are vulnerable."

There was murmur of agreement from the other lords. Mel stared at them like they were all crazy. Really? Was this actually happening? She caught Faramir's eye. If this happened he was going to get hurt, really hurt, close to death. Of course, that was how he met Eowyn and it all worked out, but… what if it didn't work out this time? So much was different, so much had changed. If she didn't speak up and Boromir's brother died, he would never forgive her for it. And what about all the other men that would march on Osgiliath, the men who never came back? Could she live with their lives on her conscience?

"They aren't vulnerable." she mumbled.

She might as well have shouted. The room went completely silent. Everyone turned to stare at her. Gandalf gently grabbed her elbow.

"Mel..." he said in a warning tone, but she shook off his hand and repeated herself, louder this time.

"They aren't vulnerable!"

"And who are you to speak on such things?" Lord Hurin said.

"One who knows," Boromir said, his eyes never leaving her face, "One who knows and would not speak unless the need were dire."

Denethor put his hand on hers. Mel flinched and looked at him. His face was grave.

"Tell us what you know of this, Lady Melody."

Mel took a deep breath.

"If you do this, if you send men to try to take back Osgiliath, they'll all die." Her eyes slid over Faramir, locked desperately on Boromir, trying to tell him, to convey with her expression what would happen if he let this go, "And it won't stop anything. The army will still come to Minas Tirith. You'll still be besieged. You should concentrate on protecting the city, not taking back what you've already lost."

It felt good to say the things she'd always said as she was reading, shouted at the movie screen countless times, and to actually be heard. At the same time, it was terrifying. She wouldn't look at Gandalf, refused to turn her head even a little in his direction. She did _not_ want to see what he thought of her right now. The other men at the table glanced at each other with varying degrees of nervous skepticism. After several moments of tense silence, Lord Hurin spoke.

"Forgive me my lords, but are we to take the word of this woman who has only this morning come to our city, untested and of questionable origins, over the opinions of well-respected lords and seasoned warriors?"

"I do not believe my nephew would bring anyone into our midst that he did not trust with absolute certainty."

The deep voice came from a man at the far end of the table that had not yet spoken. Mel couldn't help but stare, the word echoing in her ears. … _my nephew_ _…_ Dressed in a deep blue cloak, eyes the color of a stormy ocean, his dark hair just long enough that it touched his shoulders, Prince Imrahil looked at her with a stern gaze, but he inclined his head to her politely. Mel had just enough of her dignity left to keep from gaping.

"If you do not trust the word of the lady, Lord Hurin, then trust in the judgment of two of your own who have come from Osgiliath," Faramir said, putting a hand on Boromir's arm. The movement drew Mel's gaze and she saw that Boromir's fists were clenched and shaking. He was glaring at Hurin.

"Both Boromir and I fled the city and we are of one mind on the matter," Faramir continued, squeezing Boromir's arm almost imperceptibly, "Any attempt to reclaim Osgiliath would be foolhardy."

"Ultimately, the decision rests with the Steward," Gandalf said, speaking for the first time on the subject. Everyone turned to look at the wizard, but he kept his eyes on Denethor, "What say you, Lord Denethor of Gondor?"

Denethor looked slowly around the table, pondering.

"As much as I respect the opinions of everyone present," he said carefully, "I must defer to my sons' judgment on the matter. They were present when Osgiliath was overrun and I trust their assessment of the situation. Osgiliath is lost. We must prepare for an inevitable attack on Minas Tirith."

Mel nearly couldn't believe it. There would be no attempt to reclaim Osgiliath. They had saved all those people. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a long, slow breath of relief as the lords mumbled amongst themselves. When she opened them again she caught Lord Hurin watching her over the edge of his goblet as he sipped his wine. He didn't exactly scowl, but it certainly wasn't a friendly look. Mel dropped her eyes to her own wine and took another tiny sip.

"Well, now that's been settled we can get down to the business of tactics," another of the lords said eagerly, this one scruffy like a mountain man, with pitch black hair and beard and eyes. The two younger men on either side of him looked very much like him, "My sons can each command the archers on the battlements on either side of the city."

With the conversation safely turned away from her, Mel risked another glance up. Boromir was watching her and he smiled when their eyes met, raising his glass to her a bit. She grinned and did the same. He mouthed something to her that looked like 'soup' and gestured down. She looked and saw a small bowl in front of her. It looked like some sort of broth with mushrooms floating around, along with some other things that she didn't recognize. She picked up a spoon and glanced one more time at Boromir, raising an eyebrow. His smile widened a bit and he inclined his head in not-quite-a-nod. She dipped in her spoon and took a taste. It was heaven. Mel closed her eyes and sighed. Mushroom soup that tasted like it also had onion or leek, in a beefy broth, seasoned with other things that she couldn't quite name, but it all came together, perfection in her mouth. She opened her eyes and looked back at Boromir. His eyes were bright and he was really grinning now.

"Boromir!"

They both jumped and Mel's spoon clattered to the table. Lord Hurin was glaring at Boromir and Mel in turn.

"I was only asking for your opinion on how the men should be positioned on the levels of the city for the best defense against the coming hoards," Lord Hurin said, his tone clipped and stiff.

"…and trying to keep you from being sucked in by the wiles of the beauty in our midst!" said the gray-haired lord next to Gandalf.

The other lords laughed and Mel felt her cheeks start to heat up even as she covered her mouth to hide a snicker. The older lord leaned forward to get a good look at Lord Hurin.

"Not trying to steal her for yourself, are you Hurin? I think she's a little young for you," He glanced back at Mel and winked, "Now me on the other hand, I'm the exception to the rule."

Mel fought back a grin and mustered up the haughtiest look she could.

"My lord, I make it a rule never to flirt with strangers. Lord Hurin, therefore, is a full step ahead of you. At least I know his name."

The older man roared with laughter, then leaned over to look at Boromir.

"I don't know where you picked her up, lad, but keep an eye out, she's got a tongue to her!"

"So I've been told," Boromir said, glancing at his father. Denethor said nothing.

The lord got up from his chair and saluted her with his hand on his chest.

"I am Forlong, lord of Lossarnach, one of the southern provinces of Gondor."

He reached out and offered her his hand, grinning widely. Mel smiled and allowed him to give the back of her hand a whiskery kiss.

"I am pleased to meet you, Lord Forlong."

"The pleasure is mine, Lady Melody of Rivendell." He leaned down and stage-whispered to her, "But I'm afraid our pleasantries must end or I might find myself on the wrong end of a certain young man's sword."

A laugh bubbled out of Mel before she could put a hand over her mouth to stop it. Lord Forlong winked at her again and returned to his seat.

"It seems that as a host I have been remiss in my duties to you, my dear" Denethor said, patting Mel's hand, "I have brought you into the midst of strangers and made no effort to introduce you properly. You must forgive me."

Mel managed to smile at the Steward, "There's nothing to forgive. You were busy with much more important things."

"But now I will make it up to you," Denethor said decisively, pointing to the far end of the table, "There is my late wife's brother, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth."

The prince raised his glass to her and she smiled and nodded at him.

"Beside him is Lord Duinhir and his two sons, Duilin and Durufin, archers from Blackroot Vale."

These were the scruffy, black-haired men.

"Next to them of course is Lord Hurin, Keeper of the Keys of Minas Tirith."

Lord Hurin did not looked pleased at all, but he did manage a polite nod.

"You already know both of my sons…" Denethor said, moving on to the other side, skipping Gandalf completely, much to Mel's surprise, "And you've already been introduced to Lord Forlong of Lossarnach. Next to him is Lord Dervorin, the eldest son of the lord of Ringlo Vale."

This was the young man who had been so eager to attack Osgiliath. He grinned and raised his goblet to her, with apparently no hard feelings. Mel smiled back at him.

"Next is Lord Golasgil of Anfalas."

This was the only man at the table who had not yet spoken. He was tall and gaunt, with short brown hair and a thin mustache. He looked up at her with timid, blue eyes that were almost clear. Mel smiled at him and he returned it briefly before lowering his eyes to his plate again.

"And there at the end is Lord Hirluin of the Greenhills."

This was the fair-haired, blue-eyed man in green who had agreed with Lord Dervorin. He grinned and raised his goblet to her. Denethor regarded them all.

"Gentlemen, may I present Lady Melody of Rivendell."

They all raised their glasses and drank, some more grudgingly than others.

"Well, perhaps now that the pleasantries are all out of the way, we can continue preparing for the battle to come?" said Lord Hurin with a disdainful look in Mel's direction.

Mel sighed and dropped her eyes to her plate again. She didn't look up for the rest of the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, lots of new characters in this chapter! Not sure if this is my best work, but I did the best I could with it :) Hopefully I have will have more tomorrow! :D


	5. Chapter 5

After what felt like hours of unintelligible babbling about defenses, flanks, and battlements, the lords finally agreed to adjourn for the night and reconvene the next day. They all bid Mel a polite goodnight, even Lord Hurin though he was decidedly more grudging than the others. Mel's eyes met Boromir's, but before he had taken even a step in her direction, someone grabbed Mel's elbow from behind. She looked up. Gandalf's face was very grave.

"I believe it is time we had that discussion I spoke of earlier, Mel. Might I walk you to your room?"

Mel glanced back, but Boromir had been swept into an animated conversation with his father. She tried to hide her disappointment with a smile.

"Of course, Gandalf."

The wizard kept a firm hold on her elbow as he led her through the double doors, as if he were afraid she might try to break away from him and make a run for it. He shouldn't have worried. Mel wasn't that stupid. She might not be looking forward to the conversation, but she knew it was inevitable.

Once they were safely out of the dining hall and Gandalf had determined that they were quite alone, he slowed to a leisurely stroll and his grip on her arm relaxed.

"I know much of what has happened to you, Mel," he said, "The councils of the Valar are heated and a cause of much disturbance in the world. Those with an ear to hear may learn much. You have disrupted the song as it was meant to be sung, rewritten a tale that should have remained as it was."

Mel kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on a point ahead of her, but she caught the wizard's glance out of the corner of her eye.

"Of course, that is not entirely your fault," he said and his voice was soothing, "Your path was altered from the beginning. Even knowing as little about you as I do, I should have expected no less. Your heart is strong and it leads you faithfully. You were never meant to bear this Mel, but now bear it you must and bear it honorably. It will not be easy."

"Nothing about this has been easy," she said, her fingers straying to the Yavannacor, twisting it nervously.

"No," he agreed, "No it hasn't. And it will not get any easier. Even now the Valar prepare to place before you an impossible choice."

"A life for a life…" Mel whispered, finally looking up at the wizard, "How am I supposed to choose who lives and who dies? It isn't fair."

"Very little in this life is fair," Gandalf said, stopping and taking both her hands in his, "And I am afraid I have little help to offer you. I can only tell you to follow your heart as you have done before."

"That's what got me into this mess." Mel said.

"Your heart is strong, Mel. Let it help you fight your battles."

Mel raised a confused eyebrow, "I don't get it."

Gandalf nodded and patted her hands, as if he had expected that.

"You will. When it matters most, you will understand."

Mel had no idea what he was talking about, as usual, but she believed him when he said she would get it when it mattered. She just hoped that wasn't too late. They walked on in silence for a few moments. Finally, Gandalf spoke again.

"I do not know that I agree with you speaking out tonight as you did."

A smile twitched at the corner of Mel's mouth.

"I know."

"It is still dangerous, Mel, speaking of what you know, even with so much altered. I would urge caution when you speak to others who might come to you for answers. Some things should be left as they are."

"I understand, Gandalf. You're right," Mel said, "I won't give away too much, I promise."

"Knowing what is too much might prove difficult. I would urge you not to speak of your knowledge again, but you'll keep to your own council on such matters, I am sure. I have found it is often pointless to attempt to dissuade you."

Mel rolled her eyes and grinned at Gandalf.

"Would it make you feel better if I promised to do my best anyway?"

He nodded, "It would relieve a little of my worry."

"Then I promise."

They had reached Mel's door. Gandalf stopped her for a moment.

"One other piece of advice: Do not be discouraged by Lord Hurin's skepticism. He only seeks to protect that which he holds most dear. This city and its rulers are more precious to him than his own life. He would do anything to keep them from harm."

Mel nodded, "I know, Gandalf. It doesn't bother me, I kind of expected it."

Gandalf looked relieved, "I am glad to hear it, because I am sure this will not be the last time Lord Hurin of the Keys questions your motives. Stay true to yourself, Mel, and he will see your intentions are good."

"I hope so." Mel said.

Gandalf nodded decisively, "Well then, you are tired I'm sure. I'll leave you to your rest. Sleep well, Melody Calenhiril."

Mel paused, her hand on the door. That name… How did he…? But when Mel looked up Gandalf was already gone, taking long, purposeful strides down the hallway. In less than a moment he was out of sight. Mel grinned and shook her head.

_Damn wizards_ _…_

* * *

Mel woke the next morning just as the sun was beginning to light the horizon. She lay in bed for a minute, wondering what had woken her, when she realized… this was around the same time Boromir would have woken her while they were traveling. She lay very still for a few moments longer, wondering if maybe, just _maybe_ , he might tap on her door like he'd done every morning for a week now. But of course he didn't come.

Finally, she rolled out of bed and stretched, wiggling her toes in the thick green carpet. She used the wash basin across the room to wash her face and glanced up into the mirror. The image she saw barely registered as her own. Mel ran her hands through her short, curly hair and brushed her thumb across the ugly knot of scar that ran across her forehead. She had lost a lot of weight too, and it showed in her face. But there was something else too, something so subtle that she was only now able to recognize it for what it was. She looked older. Six months ago she had looked so much younger than her age. She was twenty-six, but she still got carded if she wanted a glass of wine at a restaurant. Her sisters thought it was hilarious. But now Mel looked so much older than that. It wasn't just the scar, or the hair, or even the dark circles under her eyes. It was something _in_ her eyes. They had always been bright with a youthful energy, but now they glowed with something deeper, more experienced. She was surprised to discover she didn't really mind the change. She smiled at her reflection.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Mel? May I come in?"  
It was Loriel. Mel opened the door and the girl slipped inside, carrying an armload of packages, a little crease of worry on her brow.

"I hope I didn't wake you. I'm an early riser."

Mel grinned, "Not at all. Apparently I am too."

The girl's worried frown disappeared and she carefully laid out her packages on the bed.

"These are the dresses from Mistress Rosemiren. I will unwrap them and hang them for you if you like, but first, I believe you requested these."

Loriel turned and solemnly handed Mel a brown paper package carefully tied with twine.

"Is this the pants and shirt I asked for?" Mel asked eagerly as she started to untie the string, "I hope it wasn't any trouble."

Loriel shook her head, "Oh no, not at all. The most difficult thing was finding a proper size to begin. The alterations themselves were very simple, it took me only an hour to finish."

Mel paused in her unwrapping and looked up. The girl was twisting her hands nervously, her eyes fixed on the brown paper in Mel's hands.

"Wait… Loriel?" Mel asked slowly, "Did… Did _you_ do this?"

The girl blushed and turned away, unwrapping a dress as she spoke.

"Mistress Rosemiren is a very old fashioned lady. She didn't consider your request proper. I found an extra pair of trousers and shirt, and altered them as best I could. My skills are limited of course, only what my mother taught me. I hope you don't object."

Mel finished unwrapping the brown paper and unfolded the white shirt. It looked tailor-made for her. The stitching was wonderful, she couldn't even tell that it had been altered. The pair of brown pants were the same, plain but flawless.

"It's perfect." she said.

Loriel looked up and started to smile, trying not to look too pleased.

"Really?"

"Absolutely, it's exactly what I needed. Thank you, Loriel, you didn't have to do that."

The girl's face was glowing now.

"Oh, it was really no trouble, Mel, none at all. I am so pleased that you like them."

Mel grabbed her sword belt and boots, "I'm gonna go change. Don't disappear."

Loriel smiled, and waved at the pile of unwrapped packages.

"I'll start unwrapping your dresses."

Mel hurried into the little bathroom and changed as quickly as she could. The clothes fit as well as they looked. She had forgotten what it felt like to wear comfortable clothes that actually fit. She put on her boots, strapped on her belt and walked back out, testing her sword swing. She did the first few steps of a short exercise, stretching and twisting to test the clothes and make sure they didn't pull anywhere. She hadn't realized how much of her concentration had been focused on compensating for ill-fitting clothes until she didn't have to think about it anymore. Loriel watched her with a look of admiration.

"I have never seen a lady wield a sword as you do. You are so familiar with it."

"You learn fast when your life depends on it," Mel said, sheathing her sword with a satisfied flourish, "Alright, how do I look?"

Loriel stood back and took her in with a sharp eye, before nodding decisively.

"Like a warrior. How do you feel?"

"Like I could take on an army."

"I am glad the fit suits you," Loriel said, turning back to the dresses laid out on the bed, "I had to jot down the measurements in secret while Mistress Rosemiren's back was turned."

Mel raised an eyebrow.

"Why, Loriel, you are quite the little sneak."

A smile twitched Loriel's lips, "One does what one must."

"Don't I know it."

Mel glanced outside. The sun was dimmed by the darkness covering the sky from Mordor, but it looked a little bit brighter.

"Where can I go to do my practice, Loriel?"

The girl was still unwrapping dresses carefully and didn't look up.

"The men of the guard have a practice yard not far from here. If you follow the hallway to the right until you exit the Citadel and turn left you will stumble upon it."

Mel put a hand on her arm, forcing Loriel to pause and look up.

"Thanks for taking care of me. I mean it."

Loriel smiled, "It is a real pleasure to serve you, Mel. In these dark days there are not many with your kindness. Thank you for that."

"I'll see you later?" Mel asked.

The girl nodded, "Of course. I will check on you before your lunch with the Steward this afternoon."

"Alright, see you then."

Mel strode out the door, trying to ignore the knot that had formed in her stomach at the thought of eating with the Steward again. She could worry about that later.

Loriel's directions were surprisingly easy to follow and Mel was shocked when she made it to the practice yard without getting lost once. She was even fairly certain she could make it back to her room without trouble. Which was good, because as soon as she stepped through the door and into the open space, retreat was definitely her first thought.

The practice yard was a dirt rectangle, roughly the size of a basketball court, surrounded by waist high wooden beams that spectators hung around, shouting jeers and encouragement to those working inside. Along the far side stood a line of straw dummies dressed in armor, but the rest of the yard was empty space for sparring. There were several men practicing in the yard, but the second Mel set foot in the dust everything stopped and everyone turned. It was deathly silent as all the men, about twenty or more, stared at her in varying degrees of surprise. Mel was trying to decide if it would be more mortifying to turn and run or to stand her ground, when a venomous, but familiar voice shattered the silence.

"Behold, gentlemen of the Citadel, the witch who has deceived your Captain!"

Mel's heart stopped. It wasn't… It _couldn't_ be...

A man vaulted the wooden beam and strode across the dirt toward her, tossing his light colored hair and looking smug. Vanion… Vanion, the former Warden of the beacon at Nardol, removed from his post and sent away as a prisoner for trying to take advantage of her, walked right up to her, still smiling, his bright blue eyes glittering with a hateful light. Mel's eyes narrowed and her fingers twitched on her sword hilt. She swallowed.

"What are you doing here, Vanion?" She was surprised that her voice was so calm.

He laughed and Mel had to fight the urge to wince.

"What am I doing here? Don't you recall, Lady Melody? _You_ sent me here. But it seems that my telling of our encounter held enough weight to absolve me. After all, I simply defended myself against a _witch_."

He spit the word with such disgust that Mel almost took a step back, but she held her ground, gritting her teeth. This was all his fault, all of the fear and the suspicion she was facing, it was _all his fault_ _…_

"I'm not a witch," she bit out, loud enough that everyone could hear, "That's a lie and you know it. I've done nothing to provoke you..."

"You tried to kill me!" Vanion shouted, a bit of hysteria creeping into his voice, "You tied me down with thorns while vines tried to choke the life out of me!"

"After _you_ attacked me!" Mel shouted, crouching down, her fingers tight around her sword hilt, "Just because you didn't get your way, doesn't mean you get to act like a spoiled child."

"A child you call me?" he said, his eyes burning, "A _child_?"

He unsheathed his sword and attacked with such speed that Mel almost didn't have time to react. The second their swords clashed, everything else fell away. This man was going to kill her. Nothing else mattered beyond this fight and getting away from it alive. Everything became a blur of swings, blocks, jabs, and parries that sent dust flying through the air. Mel used everything she had been taught, letting it flow out of her effortlessly as she watched for something in Vanion's defense to give way. He was a whirlwind, attacking and attacking without pause or thought, hacking at her with the mindless anger of an orc…

As soon as that thought entered her mind, everything changed. This wasn't a man. This was an orc, an orc that was trying to kill her. She no longer saw Vanion. She saw an Uruk-hai, grabbing her by the hair and kicking her until the world went black. And the next time he swung at her, instead of blocking she stepped to the left. The momentum of his swing pulled him off balance and before he could right himself, Mel kicked him in the back. He went sprawling face first into the dirt, losing a grip on his sword as he fell. He flipped himself over and scrambled for his blade. Mel didn't wait for him to get up. If she did, he would kill her this time. She ran at him, sword raised, screaming out all her frustration and anger and terror…

Someone snatched her around the waist and yanked her back. She panicked and cried out, struggling and kicking to free herself.

"Mel, be still, be still…"

It took a moment for Mel to recognize the soft voice as Faramir's. She stopped struggling and he pulled her snuggly to his chest, stroking her hair and murmuring in that same soothing tone.

"It's alright now, it's alright…"

Mel took a deep, shuddering breath and looked back at Vanion. He was still on his back in the dirt and his eyes were wide, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring up the length of a sword. Boromir's sword. Boromir stood as still as a statue, the tip of his blade pressed into the hollow of Vanion's neck. His eyes and face were as cold and emotionless as stone.

"Explain to me, Vanion, why I should not strike you down where you lay?"

Vanion's eyes flashed with panic and his words stumbled over themselves in their hurry to leave his mouth.

"The witch, she attacked me, my lord Boromir, viciously, you saw..."

Boromir turned his sword just a little in his hand and Vanion choked into silence. If Boromir pressed any further Mel was sure he'd draw blood.

"That woman there," Boromir said, "Is the only reason I did not slay you at Nardol, you sniveling little viper. I swore then I would kill you if you ever laid a hand on her again."

"I did her no harm, my lord, none!" Vanion was almost gasping now, his chest heaving, his eyes wide with terror.

Boromir paused and glanced at Mel. Her shoulders sagged and she nodded.

"He's right," she said reluctantly, "I'm not hurt."

Boromir's eyes flicked back to Vanion. His sword didn't move.

"Boromir…"

Faramir's voice was soft and tentative. The sword still didn't move.

Mel pulled herself away from Faramir and went to stand beside his brother. Boromir's eyes were boring into Vanion's panicked face. Vanion's eyes flickered back and forth between them. Mel watched him closely. He seemed so petty and small now, like a bully in middle school being put in his place by a bigger, older bully. And as much as she wanted him dead, her conscience wouldn't allow her to order his execution, not when he looked so defenseless and weak. She touched Boromir's shoulder.

"It's alright, Boromir," she said, softly, "It's alright. He didn't hurt me."

The tip of the sword wavered, and then slowly dropped to Boromir's side.

"She has saved you again, worm," he muttered, "You should show some gratitude. It is far more than you deserve."

He turned his back and strode across the dusty practice field. Mel stared down at Vanion. His wide-eyed disbelief quickly narrowed to venomous resentment.

"Do not think because you spared my life that I belong to you, witch." he growled.

Mel had to fight back a laugh.

"I wouldn't want you if you offered yourself to me, Vanion," she said, "The only thing I want is to never, ever see you again. I've saved your life twice now. Asking me to do it again would be pushing your luck."

She spun on her heel and almost ran smack into Faramir. She'd forgotten he was there. His eyes were wide, but she held his gaze without flinching.

"Lord Faramir."

He inclined his head to her respectfully.

"Well met again, Lady Melody. Well met indeed."

She returned his nod and then swept by, striding across the still and silent practice field with her head held high. The crowd had more than doubled as she and Vanion had fought. She felt the gaze of a hundred eyes on her, but she ignored them. She walked out of the yard and headed toward the Citadel. Boromir was standing by the wall, waiting. As she brushed by him into the building, Mel spoke only one sentence.

"You should have let me finish."

Then she left him standing outside, her hurt pride still hanging in the air around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I have an announcement to make! In just ten minutes, Camp NaNoWriMo will begin for me, which means I will be devoting quite a bit of my writing time to the new story I am drafting this month. This is good news if any of you are Loki fans, but it also means that I will have to cut back on my updating on this story. I am not going to give it up, but I might only be posting one chapter a week for a few weeks. I just wanted to give you guys a heads up and let you know that I haven't forgotten about you!
> 
> Okay, now let me know what you think of the plot twist! I know you all probably hate me right now, so go ahead and let it out in the comments ;P


	6. Chapter 6

Mel spent what remained of her morning out in her tiny garden, curled up on the grass with a basket of fruit that had been left in her room. She had changed clothes, choosing one of the dresses Loriel had brought, a soft gray gown with silver lace at the sleeves, hem and collar. She tossed a shiny red apple back and forth between her hands, her eyes drawn over the tops of the city buildings and away east almost against her will. The black clouds rolling on the horizon, growing steadily outward from the red glow of Mordor, made her mouth go dry and her chest clench. Her shoulders slumped and the apple fell still in her lap.

 _Poor Frodo,_ she thought, _Poor Sam._

She missed them. She missed the whole Fellowship, even Gimli and Aragorn… Legolas… Legolas would have let her finish what she'd started this morning. Legolas wouldn't have gotten in her way. Her hand clenched around the apple.

 _I had him,_ she thought as her teeth crunched angrily into the fruit, _I had him and he stopped me._

She couldn't understand it. She'd had Vanion in the dirt. He was her's, fair and square, one of the first fights she'd ever felt like she'd won fairly. And it had all come to a screeching halt. In front of all of those soldiers. Her face burned just thinking about it. Why would Boromir do that? She didn't think it was customary to just step into a fight like that. And now any respect that she might have earned was lost. She didn't even feel any respect for herself. Because despite the fact that she knew she _could_ have won, she hadn't. She still had never fairly won a fight.

She didn't know how long she sat there, brooding, turning it over and over in her mind. The first tendrils of dark cloud were starting to drift over Minas Tirith and time lost a lot of its meaning with the sun shrouded in haze. When a throat cleared behind her, Mel jumped a mile.

"Oh Mel, I'm terribly sorry!" Loriel exclaimed, "I thought you heard me enter."

Mel rubbed the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart.

"No… no I didn't hear you, Loriel, I'm sorry."

The girl's bright blue eyes looked Mel up and down, a small smile touching the corner of her mouth.

"The gown suits you."

Mel glanced down, surprised, "You think?"

Loriel nodded, looking pleased.

"Well enough. Come, I will comb your hair."

"What for?" Mel asked, even as she got up and brushed the grass off her skirt.

"You are to lunch with the Steward and his sons. Have you forgotten?"

Mel's stomach lurched. She _had_ forgotten actually.

"Oh… right."

"I'm sure someone will be here for you shortly." Loriel said, with a quick glance to Mel as they walked back into her room.

"Uh huh, sure." Mel said, feeling slightly dazed. No one had said anything about coming for her. Maybe no one was coming. If no one came, did that mean she didn't have to go? Even more horrifying, what if Denethor came for her again? She didn't know if she could handle another "friendly walk" with the Steward of Gondor.

Loriel sat her down and began to comb through her curls while Mel tried not to think about the knot in her stomach.

"I heard about what happened on the practice field," Loriel said quietly, "The Citadel is abuzz with it."

Mel sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Great," she said, "So everyone knows."

"Yes, your skill is the subject of much admiration in the barracks. I imagine you will have many challenges come the morrow."

That… had not been the answer she'd expected. Mel stared at Loriel in the mirror, who did not look up from her work.

"What?"

"The men are anxious to test their skills against one trained with both the elves and their Captain. You have a unique style many say they've never seen before."

"But…" Mel stuttered, "But, I didn't win."

"I also heard of Lord Boromir's..." Loriel hesitated, "…distasteful behavior. The men speak of that as well, and none too proudly. In their minds, the point is moot. The fight was decided." She paused and glanced up at Mel in the mirror, "Was that what troubled you so deeply, Mel? The fight this morning?"

Even though there was so much more on her mind, Mel still felt as if a small weight had been lifted. She could hold her head up a little higher.

"Partly," Mel said, "Not all of it, but partly."

"Well, I am pleased that I could ease your mind of that at least," Loriel said, continuing to comb through her hair, "I sense you have so much that burdens you, Mel. If there is anything I can do, I will be pleased to do it."

Mel smiled, "Thank you, Loriel."

But on the inside she was thinking, _Sister, you have no idea_ _…_

Loriel finished combing her hair and placed a few pins, just to draw some of the curls back from her face (and still managing to somehow cover the scar on Mel's forehead). Then she had Mel stand and turn to make sure there were no stains or tears in her dress.

"That should be sufficient." Loriel said.

There was a knock on the door. Loriel smiled.

"Allow me."

She went to the door while Mel stood and smoothed nervously at her skirt. When the door opened, Loriel looked surprised, but not unpleasantly so. She dropped a short curtsy.

"My lord, forgive me, we weren't expecting you."

"Of course. If Lady Melody will allow, I have come to see if she will join us for luncheon."

The voice was Faramir's. Mel felt a little knot of anxiety between her shoulders relax and she nodded at Loriel's questioning look. The girl stepped back and Mel came around the door. Faramir was standing very straight and still in the hallway, a slightly anxious strain to his polite smile. It suddenly occurred to Mel that he probably thought she was angry at him, and for the first time she thought maybe she should be. But even though he had technically helped his brother try to make a fool of her, Mel felt like it was a little too late to be mad at him now, so she smiled reassuringly and inclined her head to him.

"Lord Faramir." she said.

His smile relaxed into a far more genuine expression and he returned her nod.

"Mel," He held out his hand to her, "Shall we go? My father doesn't very well tolerate tardiness to the table."

She allowed him to take her hand and tuck it into his elbow as his father had done the night before, but this time she felt no inclination to shiver or pull away. They walked in comfortable silence for only a few moments before Faramir spoke again.

"Boromir wished me to extend his apologies that he could not be here himself. He has many urgent matters that require his attention."

Mel's heart sank a little, even as she clenched her jaw and internally scolded herself for it.

"Yeah, of course he does."

She had tried to sound nonchalant, but even in her own ears it didn't sound very convincing. Faramir glanced down at her with a small frown of concern.

"He seemed quite distraught about it. He did everything he could to be here."

Mel nodded, but she kept her eyes on her feet, tried to keep her expression neutral. There was no reason for Faramir to try so hard. She had known for a while this was going to happen, that this was how it would start, the beginning of the end. But somehow, even though she was mad at Boromir, it still hurt.

Faramir waited for a moment, as if weighing his options, and when he spoke again it was with a cheery tone that was clearly meant to clear the air.

"My brother and I have not had much time to talk together since his return, we have both been so very busy. I hope you don't mind if I take this opportunity to satisfy a little of my curiosity."

It took a minute of pointed silence for Mel to realize that Faramir was trying to ask her something in some sort of roundabout way.

"Lord Faramir, you may ask me any question you want, but I can't guarantee I'll answer it."

She grinned mischievously up at him. He shrugged.

"I suppose I can ask for nothing more than that."

He paused, choosing his next words carefully.

"Where do you come from? Originally. I know it is not Rivendell or any land of the North. Your speech is so odd, I have never heard it's like."

"And you probably never will again," Mel answered, "I come from somewhere very far away, too far away to be on any map."

"Is that all the answer I am to receive?"

"It's the only answer I can give you."

Faramir's eyes sparkled and he chuckled, "Boromir was right, you are a riddle."

It was Mel's turn to laugh.

"If your brother calls me a riddle, you have no chance at all. He knows more about me than any other person in the world."

"And why is my brother privy to knowledge that I am not?"

He said it playfully, but Mel felt her face fall and she had to look away to collect herself.

"Because he was the first," Mel said finally, "The very first person I could trust. Even when I thought he was lost, he proved me wrong, in the best possible way. And when I thought _I_ was lost, he proved me wrong again."

Mel looked up and grinned at Faramir's puzzled expression.

"There's a riddle for you, Faramir. See if you can figure that one out."

Faramir shook his head, still wearing a perplexed smile.

"You pose a great challenge to me, Mel. I will try not to disappoint."

Somehow they had reached the doors to the dining hall without Mel realizing it. Mel's hand tightened reflexively around Faramir's arm. He looked down at her and then reached over to pat her hand comfortingly.

"He is not so very frightening, Mel," he murmured, "My father is a stern man, proud and stubborn, but he means you no harm, I assure you."

Mel took a deep breath and made her lips turn up in a smile.

"I know." she said, but even just those two words sounded forced and empty.

Faramir gave her a kind smile before he pushed open one of the huge doors. A sharp voice cut through the air and Mel flinched.

"She serves no purpose here!"

The sharp voice cut through the air and Mel flinched. Faramir paused, first puzzled, then his jaw clenched in a strangely familiar expression of anger.

"You both know this my lords!" Lord Hurin's angry shout echoed against the stones, "She serves only as a distraction, nothing more!"

"What would you have had me do, Hurin?" Boromir's tone was much quieter, but no less heated, "I could not in good conscience leave her outside the city walls."

"With all due respect, Lord Boromir, I believe your judgment might be a bit clouded." Hurin snapped.

"Are you accusing my son of neglecting his duties, Lord Hurin?" Denethor spoke now, his tone clipped and dangerous, "Since his return, he has worked tirelessly to prepare this city for battle while you quibble over one harmless girl. If anyone is distracted by her, it is you."

"My lord, forgive my obstinance in this, but I see no reason to keep one woman here when all the other noble ladies have been sent away."

"Haven't you heard, Lord Hurin?" Faramir said sharply, finally pushing through the doors and dragging Mel along with him, despite her every effort to hold him back, "Mel is no ordinary lady."

Boromir and Denethor both jumped to their feet. Lord Hurin was already standing, his hands on the table, but he straightened when he saw them.

"Lady Melody," he said, grudgingly inclining his head toward her, "Forgive me, I did not know you were here."

 _No, you were just gonna stab me in the back_ _…_ Mel thought bitterly, a rush of indignant fury filling her chest, but she bit her tongue to keep the harsh words from tumbling out of her mouth. Instead she took a sharp breath through her nose and returned Lord Hurin's nod before she chose to speak.

"Please continue, Lord Hurin," she said, her voice surprisingly steady and calm, "Don't let me keep you from making your point."

Lord Hurin stared at her with wide eyes and opened his mouth, only to close it again with a frustrated scowl. Whatever he had expected of her, this clearly hadn't been it. She could see Boromir smirking out of the corner of her eye, but since she was still angry at him too she ignored it. After several seconds of stunned silence, Lord Hurin finally recovered himself enough to form words.

"I was simply trying to understand the logic of your presence here, my lady. I understand that you have certain... abilities others believe might be of some use to us, but I'm afraid the relevance escapes me. How exactly does your particular talent relate to battle tactics?"

Mel swallowed. His concerns were much more elaborate echoes of her conversation with Denethor the night before.

_I am interested to know how you think your power could possibly make a difference against the army that even now rises against us_ _…_

The question irked her, mostly because she wanted an answer to it herself. She had absolutely no intention of hiding out in her room until it was all over, that was for sure. She wanted to help. But the only real skill she possessed seemed to be of no use at all. How was talking to trees supposed to help defend an entire city? She could hear them outside the Citadel, a low, wordless murmur, only occasionally peppered with the sound of her name.

_"Calenhiril... Calenhiril... Calenhiril..."_

It came to her like a lightning crack in her head, the spark of a memory nearly forgotten, illuminating a larger idea for one short bright moment, just long enough to form a basic premise, something she could build on.

"The trees…" she whispered.

The four men stared at her with varying degrees of skepticism and curiosity, but Mel barely noticed, her thoughts racing now, connecting thoughts and memories and bits of a plan that were beginning to grow together in her head.

"Your own trees will defend your city, my lords."

"And how will they do that?" Hurin asked, contempt dripping from his well-mannered voice, "Will they take up arms and march out to meet our enemies?"

"No," Mel replied, smiling now, "But they can guard your gates at least."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's short, not much happens, bear with me it's gonna get better! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :D Sorry I was gone for so long, Loki sucked me down into a deep, dark pit last month and I'm only now starting to creep my way out again ;P I am planning to return to regular updating, three chapters a week if possible, so stay tuned this is only one of many to come! :)

Explaining the plan she had in her head to the Gondorian lords meant that Mel was forced to reveal a bit more about the siege that was coming, specifically that the army from Mordor had a machine capable of breaking down the city gates.

"Impossible," Hurin muttered, his face sour, "The gates of Minas Tirith have never been breached."

"They will be," Mel said, "You can count on it. But I think I can at least put it off for a little while."

"How?"

The question came from Boromir whose brow was furrowed suspiciously. Mel felt her irritation at him spike. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him she could take care of herself, there was no need for his concern, but that felt petty. So instead she answered in the most confident tone she could muster.

"Do you remember Eregion? When the crows passed over us, and the tree and the bushes grew to hide us?"

Boromir nodded.

"I can use the trees to cover the gates the same way. It's not much," she said, looking at Hurin as she said it, "But it would be another obstacle the enemy would have to overcome. It might buy us some time."

"Time for what?" Denethor asked, leaning forward, "What will we be waiting for, Lady Melody?"

Mel dropped her eyes to her hands.

"Rohan, my lords. Even now they muster the Rohirrim to come to our aid. But if I can prevent the loss of even a few lives in the meantime, I feel it is worth the effort."

"Melody," Boromir said, and the soft hint of worry in his voice made her eyes flash up in anger. He didn't seem to notice, "The trees will not stand against this army. There will be much damage."

"I know that," Mel said, biting back the sharp edge in her tone, "And they know it too. They want to help."

It was true. Ever since the idea had entered her mind, the trees had been clamoring, thrilled at the possibility of contributing to the preservation of the city. Their city. They loved it as much as the men that lived within its walls. They were willing to sacrifice themselves for it.

_**"We are not afraid."** _

The words fell from Mel's mouth with such force that the platters on the table trembled, echoing in the empty hall and leaving a reverent silence in their wake. Mel closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pulling back the power she felt expanding in her chest. She wasn't sure what she could do with that power. She had a feeling she was about to find out. She opened her eyes and met Denethor's steady gaze.

"Please, my lord Steward, let me do this."

Hurin snorted, very effectively breaking the stillness.

"It is a pointless effort. Trees cannot possibly stand against the armies of Sauron."

"Perhaps…"

Denethor sat thoughtfully in his chair, his fingers touching his chin. Mel held her breath. If he didn't give her permission to do this, she was fairly certain she would do it anyway. It was just going to be much more difficult. Denethor examined her face for a moment, and then a smile tugged at his lips.

"…but I agree with Lady Melody. If we can prevent any loss of life, it is not pointless. You may proceed, my dear."

It took a minute for Mel to replay the response in her head, and another minute more before she really believed it. She had been expecting a fight. This was… strangely easy. But she did manage to smile at the Steward through her surprise.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Lord Hurin, as Keeper of the Keys you will be sure that Lady Melody receives complete cooperation and anything she may require to complete this task."

Denethor gave Hurin a look that made Mel shiver. Hurin scowled, which was more than Mel would have done, but he nodded.

"Yes, my lord Steward."

Mel sighed and leaned back into her chair, feeling a knot between her shoulders loosen. Boromir was looking at her with that same hint of worry crinkling around his eyes. Mel met his gaze without a bit of concern and tilted her head questioningly in his direction. Boromir only shook his head and dropped his eyes from hers. Whatever was bugging him, he clearly didn't want to discuss it in front of the company at large. That was fine. She didn't need his worry anyway. She was perfectly fine.

Faramir and Boromir gave their reports to their father on what was being done in the city to prepare, most of which Mel didn't understand, but it sounded like they had been very busy since this morning. She did notice that there was no mention of the incident on the practice field, but of course why would there be? It didn't matter. If she saw Vanion again, she would take care of it, it was as simple as that.

Mel started in surprise when Faramir stood and moved to pull her chair out for her. She had been staring into her soup bowl, absently moving bits of veggie around with her spoon, for god only knew how long. She got to her feet and Faramir offered her his arm, she supposed to take her back to her room.

"Lord Faramir."

Lord Hurin stepped in front of them, looking and sounding very reluctant.

"If I may be permitted to accompany the lady, I believe we have things to discuss."

Faramir glanced down at Mel, hesitating. Honestly, Mel was not looking forward to Lord Hurin's company, but she supposed it was inevitable now. And Gandalf's words echoed in her head.

_Do not be discouraged by Lord Hurin's skepticism. He only seeks to protect that which he holds most dear._

Mel touched Faramir's elbow reassuringly, and even managed a smile for Lord Hurin.

"Of course, my lord." she said politely.

He didn't offer his arm, but he bowed slightly and gestured toward the door with an open hand, inviting her forward. She stepped off the raised dais and followed him. Once they were clear of the dining hall, the lord set a slow pace and didn't wait long before speaking.

"Have you given any thought to what your... project will require?"

Mel still detected a hint of disdain in his voice, but she ignored it. She knew he wasn't a fan, she was lucky he was asking at all.

"Time mostly. I'll need to visit the gates. The trees will need help to grow so much, so quickly. I'll need to be there."

"How long?"

"I don't know," she answered, truthfully, "But there is something I have thought of that will require your help."

Mel looked up at Hurin. He was watching her intently, but he didn't look hostile, merely curious.

"Once the gates are closed, it won't be possible to reopen them quickly," she said, "We will need to evacuate the levels we're sealing off."

Hurin's brow creased.

"It will take time," he muttered, almost to himself, "How many gates will be sealed?"

She couldn't remember exactly how far Sauron's army got after they breached the main gate.

"At least the first two," she replied, just to be safe, "More if I can manage it."

Hurin considered that carefully, his face now void of any disdain or mistrust, his whole mind calculating facts and figures about his city that Mel couldn't even begin to guess.

"It will take men to organize such a large evacuation. Though most of our citizens have retreated from the city, there are a large number that remain and many will be loath to leave their homes. I will have to speak to the garrisons, ask how many soldiers can be spared for the effort."

Mel nodded, "I understand."

"When do you plan to begin work?"

"As soon as possible. I was actually hoping to go down and visit the gates this afternoon, get an idea of what I'm working with…"

"I can help with that."

The new voice made them both jump. Boromir was striding down the corridor after them. He caught up and bowed slightly to Hurin, who returned the gesture.

"I would be happy to take Melody to the gates," Boromir said, with a grin in her direction. It took a moment for Mel to remember she was supposed to be angry at him.

"I wouldn't want to take you away from your other duties, Lord Boromir," she replied, in a voice that was slightly colder than she had meant it to be. It froze Boromir's grin on his face.

"Yes," Hurin agreed, too quickly, "We really can't spare you, my lord, for such a petty task. Perhaps one of the pages..."

"I am free of other duties this afternoon," Boromir said, turning his eyes on Hurin none too kindly, "And Lady Melody is a guest in my house. I shall be the one to attend to her, Lord Hurin."

Hurin almost looked like he would argue, but after a tense moment, he just bowed his head grudgingly.

"As you wish, my lord."

He turned to Mel and bowed to her as well, with much less animosity than she would have expected.

"I will have a report ready for you this evening, Lady Melody. Good day."

Then he spun and strode off down the corridor. Boromir watched him go and shook his head.

"Ill-tempered old man," he grumbled.

"He means well," Mel said absently, watching as Lord Hurin disappeared around a corner, "He just doesn't understand."

Boromir looked down at her and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't tell me the two of you have bonded in the five minutes you were out of my sight."

Mel rolled her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't like me, I know that. But I understand why and I think we're trying to work through it."

Boromir nodded. They had absently started walking down the corridor again. Mel wondered if he really was free this afternoon. It didn't seem likely. He was Captain of the White Tower and they were about to go to war. How would he manage to get an afternoon off?

"I am sorry I haven't been with you, Melody," Boromir's voice was very somber when it broke the silence between them.

"It's okay." Mel answered automatically, but Boromir shook his head.

"It isn't, though you are kind to say so. I brought you here, to a strange city unlike any place you've ever known, and left you alone. I should be with you."  
"You have a lot to do," Mel said, actively ignoring the clench in her chest, "And I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

She put particular emphasis on that last part. The humiliation of this morning still stung.

Boromir nodded, "I do not doubt that."

 _Obviously, you do,_ Mel thought, but she said nothing. They were quiet again for a moment. With obvious difficulty, Boromir once more broke the silence.

"I... I suppose I should also... I apologize for the scene this morning."

Mel stiffened involuntarily. Boromir quickly continued.

"It was unfair of me to interfere in your match. Believe me, I have been told this more times than I can count today. My men were none too happy that I stepped in and I understand their point. I injured your pride and I am truly sorry for that."

Mel held back a snort and she wouldn't look at him.

"Melody, I would like to explain something to you. I want you to understand that my involvement in your fight was not a reflection of my faith in your abilities."

This time Mel did snort, but she didn't speak. Boromir sighed.

"I know you are unhappy with me. You've made that very clear. But on my honor, I did not mean to hurt you in any way. I was trying to protect you."

"I didn't need your protection!" she burst out, "I _had_ him!"

"I was protecting you from _yourself_!"

Mel stopped where she was and stared at him.

"What?"

Boromir rubbed his hands over his face, as if he could rub away the frustration that had bled into his voice.

"I couldn't just stand by and watch you… Melody, you have never killed anyone before. I know, I can see it in your eyes. You've killed orcs of course, that's different, they barely count as intelligent creatures, but to kill a man..." He sighed and wouldn't meet her eyes, "Killing a human being changes you, forever. It isn't something you can take back once it's done."

Mel had a thought that took the breath out of her lungs. Boromir had killed men before. It was a strange realization to have, something that should have been so obvious, but had never really occurred to her. Something stuck in her throat and she swallowed to clear it away.

Boromir sighed again, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"I know it was a foolish thing to prevent. Vanion is a villain and deserves every horrible thing you could have done to him. If there is any man I would have been happy was dead, it is him. And..." He paused, "…I know I can't keep you from it forever. You might very well have to kill men in the days to come. But when I saw you, rushing toward him, I..."

He stopped, as if unable to finish his thought. Mel hadn't thought about any of this. But if Boromir had let her go, she would have killed Vanion. He was right, Vanion was an awful human being and if there was anyone she thought might deserve to die, it was probably him. But that was easy for her to say that now, now that the opportunity was no longer in front of her. How would she have felt afterward? She had no idea. But she wasn't quite as angry at Boromir now, for stopping her.

Without thinking, she reached out and touched his hand. He jumped and then stared down at her fingers with a confused look that Mel couldn't quite figure out. It wasn't like this was the first time she'd ever touched him. He brushed his fingers over hers, almost in a daze, and then pulled away, staring forward at some point past her shoulder, his voice now carefully guarded.

"I understand, of course, if you are still angry with me..."

"No," Mel interrupted, pulling back and clasping her hands together in front of her, "No, I'm not angry. You're right. I shouldn't have let him get to me like that. It won't happen again."

Of course. She'd forgotten for a moment where they were. Of course he couldn't act the same as they had before, out in the wild. What if someone saw them and got some crazy idea? He couldn't risk rumors and doubt, especially now. How could she have been so stupid?

He glanced down at her again, that vague look of confusion still on his face. What was with him? She got too close and he pulled away, she pulled back and he looked like he didn't understand why. One of them was seriously turned around and she wasn't sure which of them it was.

"So," she said, breaking the awkward silence, "Gates? Main gate would probably be the best place to start, don't you think?"

Boromir shook his head and the vague confusion disappeared, replaced with a smile that was slightly more familiar.

"Very well."

He offered his arm, which she took, trying to keep her heart from stuttering. Would she ever be able to touch him without feeling this ache in her chest? She wasn't sure. But at least this was okay. She could live with this.

* * *

Boromir felt it again when Melody took his arm, that warm tingle where she touched him. He'd felt it when her fingers had brushed his. It made his hair stand on end and his breath quicken. It was an unusual sensation, strangely familiar, yet he was certain he had never felt it before. Was this some new aspect of her power? It seemed a logical explanation, but then why did it seem that she felt nothing? And no one else appeared to suffer the same effect. Perhaps his brother had experienced it when he'd accompanied her this afternoon and simply had not mentioned it to him yet. He would ask at the first opportunity. Perhaps between them they could determine what was causing this, his heart racing, his mind hazy except for the sharp feeling of her touch on his arm. Yes, he would ask his brother as soon as possible. In the meantime, he would keep these strange feelings to himself. There was no need to trouble Melody. After all, it wasn't unpleasant… no… not unpleasant at all.


	8. Chapter 8

At the gate of the Citadel they took a sharp left, rather than continuing straight down the main road as Mel had expected.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The stables," Boromir said, "It will be much faster if we ride to the first level on horseback."

Mel looked at him, then down at the dress she was still wearing, then back up at him.

"Uh, Boromir?"

He glanced down and she fluttered her skirt at him.

"How am I gonna ride in this?"

He looked momentarily perplexed by her question. Then, slowly, a grin began to spread across his face.

"Why Melody," he said, failing to hide the hint of amusement in his voice, "Don't tell me you've never ridden aside before."

She stared. Aside? Did he mean… sidesaddle? Was he serious?

She glanced around to make sure there was no one within earshot before she leaned in and hissed, "Where I come from, it was never an issue!"

Boromir laughed.

"Well, my dear Melody, where I come from, it is the only way some ladies ever learn to ride. Now come," he said, taking her arm and gently leading her down the side street, "It can't be too difficult. I'm sure if so many empty-headed court flowers can accomplish it, you shall have no trouble at all."

While she was flattered by his overwhelming confidence, Mel was pretty sure it was misplaced. But she allowed him to lead her on. What choice did she have, really?

The stable at least was familiar, the same as every stable she had ever set foot in, stalls and clatter and the smell of fresh hay, and the second they set foot inside a familiar and comforting voice shouted their names with trademark cheeriness.

"Mel! Boromir!"

Two small figures raced down the corridor toward them and while Mel recognized Pippin instantly, the boy chasing him was unfamiliar to her.

"Pippin, wait!" he called out, but Pippin ignored him, skidding to a halt in front of them and almost causing the boy to run into his back.

"Look!" Pippin said, throwing back his cloak and revealing a new tunic, the White Tree of Gondor on a field of blue, "Like it? I'm part of the Citadel guard now!"

"Pippin..." The boy behind him hissed, his eyes darting from the hobbit to Boromir and back, "I'm, I'm sorry, my lord, my lady, he doesn't yet understand..."

Boromir waved his hand dismissively, "It is no trouble lad, this halfling is a dear friend to me. What is your name, boy?"

"Bergil," Mel whispered, the name finally coming to her. The boy's head jerked up and he stared at her. She smiled, "Son of Beregond, right?"

It took the boy a moment to realize he was staring and he dropped his eyes.

"Yes, my lady."

Mel was pleased with herself, but an unexpected twinge of worry soured the experience. He was younger than she had imagined him to be. Too young to be in a war. Pippin flung an arm around the boy's shoulders good-naturedly.

"It's alright, Bergil," Pippin said, "Boromir and Mel are alright."

"As a matter of fact," Boromir said, "We were about to go down to the main gate and take a look around. Would you both care to join us?"

Pippin's eyes lit up, "Of course!"

But Bergil looked distressed and undecided.

"Begging your pardon, Lord Boromir, but..."

The boy paused, one of his toes digging into the dirt.

"If you have other obligations, Master Bergil, do not feel the need to shirk them on my account," Boromir said kindly, "Fulfill your duties, if you have them."

Bergil looked relieved.

"Thank you, my lord."

"Another time, perhaps." Boromir added.

Bergil nodded, "Of course sir, thank you sir."

The boy bowed and then scurried off. Pippin watched him go and then shrugged, turning back to Mel and Boromir.

"So, when are we leaving?"

"As soon as we can find horses, Master Peregrin," Boromir said, moving forward to talk to one of the stable hands.

Pippin waited until Boromir was out of earshot, then he sidled closer to Mel and grinned up at her.

"So?" he said, leaning in conspiratorially, "What's the plan?"

She looked down at him, perplexed by the mischievous glint in his eye.

"Plan?"

"You know," he said, looking pointedly at her hand and her ring, "The plan! Are we raising a tree army or what?"

Mel laughed.

"Pippin, there are a lot of things that I'm capable of, but unfortunately a tree army on such short notice isn't one of them."

He looked slightly disappointed.

"Well then, what are you going to do?"

She squeezed his shoulder affectionately.

"You'll see, Pip, don't worry."

That seemed to satisfy him a little and just then the stable hand reappeared, leading two horses. One of course was Deor, snorting and pawing at the ground restlessly. The other horse was quite a bit smaller, bay colored, and wearing the dreaded sidesaddle. Mel eyed it warily. It looked much like an English saddle, something that she wasn't a huge fan of to begin with. But this also had a strange protrusion sticking out of the left hand side, curved slightly up. It took a moment for Mel to associate it as a leg rest. The stable boy handed her the reins and retreated. Mel took a moment to look over the rest of the saddle, considering her mounting strategy.

"May I help you, Lady Melody?"

Boromir had materialized beside her, his eyes sparkling and a small grin that was not quite a smirk on his face. Mel drew herself up and tossed her head, trying to instill confidence where none existed.

"Thank you, Lord Boromir, but I don't believe that will be necessary."

She took hold of the saddle, put her right foot in the stirrup and yanked herself up. Or rather, she tried to. Unfortunately, she didn't realize that her foot had tangled with her skirt until she was in the air. When she pulled, her tangled foot tugged on the back of her dress, jerking her off-balance. As she fell backward she had a moment of panic as her foot slipped and stuck in the stirrup, just enough time to realize the unimaginable pain that would follow as her ankle was twisted under the weight of her fall, to wonder if it would break, how hard her head would hit the ground, if her neck would snap…

…and then she was swept out of the air and suspended firmly above the floor. She grabbed Boromir around the neck and held on, burying her head in his shoulder for a minute, shuddering once at the thought of what _could_ have happened. When she got her breath back, she looked up and saw Boromir's eyes sparkling down at her, that same grin that was not quite a smirk tugging at his lips. Her heart stuttered. Her whole body tingled with his touch. She had to remind herself to breathe. She watched the humor slip slowly from his face, his eyes searching hers, but she couldn't imagine what he was looking for…

"Mel! Are you alright?"

Pippin's voice made Mel jump. She dropped her eyes down to him and smiled.

"Yeah, Pip, I'm okay. Just clumsy, I guess."

"Shall we try once more, Lady Melody?" Boromir asked. His eyes were sparkling again and he was now officially smirking.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face, Boromir, and help me into this thing." Mel said, grudgingly.

Between the two of them, Mel was finally able to settle precariously into the saddle. Boromir mounted Deor (with an ease that Mel observed with envy), pulled Pippin up behind him, and the three of them made their way slowly out of the stables and onto the main road, Mel following behind Boromir and trying to maintain her balance. The saddle was awkward and she felt very unstable, unable to find her center, something that was second nature to her when riding astride. Boromir must have realized her discomfort, because he never led at a quicker pace than a walk, and never said a word about it. Mel was glad. She would have been sorry to kill him.

There were not many people in the streets of Minas Tirith and most seemed in a hurry to be anywhere but where they were, heads down, shoulders hunched, not a glance to anything but the path in front of them. They looked so… tired. It made Mel's heart ache. She knew they weren't really hers, but of everywhere she'd been, all the places she'd seen, this city felt the most like home, and it pained her to think of its people so broken. She glanced at Boromir's back. His shoulders were straight, his head held high. He looked strong and brave. That was what the people of Gondor should look like. Someday they would. She would do whatever she could to make sure that happened. And to make sure Boromir would see it.

The main gate was open when they arrived, lines of people streaming in and, to Mel's horror, out onto the empty plains.

"Where are they going?" she asked, trying to keep her terror from seeping into her breathless voice.

"Some are refugees from the eastern border coming for protection," Boromir said, glancing back at her, "Others are fleeing the city, heading for smaller settlements to the west and south."

Mel had to bite back what she wanted to say. She wanted them to shut up the gates immediately, to stop these crazy people from leaving behind what little bit of safety the walls of the city could give them. It might not be much in the end, but it had to be better than the great wide expanse of nothing that spread out in all directions on the Pelennor fields. But she shut her mouth firmly and kept her thoughts to herself. They had a right to decide what happened to them, to choose whether to stay or go. She had to give as many as she could the opportunity to make that choice.

They dismounted and left their horses in the care of a runner for the guard, a boy not much older than Bergil. Why did they all seem so young? They took a stairway to the top of the outer wall, and from there Mel got her first good, long look at the Pelennor. There were a few trees scattered in twos and threes over the grassland, but nothing substantial. She could hear them muttering amongst themselves out there, about the darkness and the affairs of Men, old trees with deep roots and even deeper apathy. There would be no help from them.

"Mel?"

Pippin's voice brought her back to the wall and the city. She smiled down at his furrowed brow and had to resist the strong urge to ruffle his hair in a gesture of reassurance. Boromir was looking back at her with that same furrow of concern, but he didn't say anything, only turned and led them further along the wall. They passed soldiers along the way that saluted Boromir and bowed to her. Boromir ignored them and kept walking, but Mel couldn't bring herself to do that. Each soldier got a smile and a nod as she hurried past. Pippin was working too hard to keep up with Boromir's long strides to pay them much notice.

At the edge of the gate, they were greeted by three familiar faces.

"Ah! Lord Boromir, Lady Melody!" cried Lord Duinhir, his two scruffy sons by his side, "We were just discussing the best position our archers might take along the wall."

Mel looked at Boromir, waiting for him to break the news to the lords that their men wouldn't be along this wall. But he only nodded to the three men.

"Of course, Lord Duinhir, don't let us keep you."

Lord Duinhir, glanced down and noticed Pippin for the first time.

"Ah, the Halfling!" He cried with pleasant surprise, "We heard that one had come with the wizard, but we've not yet met."

"Peregrin Took, my lords." Pippin said cheerily, saluting the three men, easily three times his size.

Lord Duinhir took the time to introduce himself and his sons.

"I see you wear the white tree on your breast, Peregrin Took." Duinhir said, "Wear it with honor."

Pippin nodded solemnly, "I will, sir."

The lord nodded, and then bowed in the Gondorian fashion to Boromir and Mel.

"We take leave, my lord."

Boromir returned the gesture and the three burly men walked back along the wall, talking amongst themselves.

When the lords had walked safely out of earshot, Mel leaned in to Boromir's side and whispered, "Shouldn't we tell Lord Duinhir that his men can't be on this wall? They'll be trapped."

Boromir shook his head, "There are small doors leading from one level to another, specifically built for escape in case the walls should be breached. A small group of soldiers will have no problem moving up the levels as needed."

"Oh."

Mel felt a little stupid now. Of course they wouldn't be trapped. She forced down the hint of embarrassment burning in her chest and instead turned her attention to the huge metal gates below them. It was a little easier to understand Lord Hurin's skepticism now that she was standing on top of them looking down. She was beginning to wonder herself how the forces of Sauron would ever break through the thick sheets of metal.

Pippin stood on tiptoe next to her and peered over the wall at the trees below. She looked down at him and smiled. He was so much taller than he was when they had started.

"What are they saying, Mel?" he asked eagerly, his eyes searching the branches as if he might be able to decipher their speech if he just looked hard enough.

Mel pulled her eyes away from him and looked down into the branches waving gently just below. The two trees standing guard were large and tall, but not tall enough to quite reach the top of the gate. That would have to be addressed. It wouldn't be a simple thing with trees this size and age. She would have to help them. She had an idea how that might work and she hoped it would be enough.

Then the two trees spoke to her in unison.

_"Welcome, Calenhiril."_

The two voices echoed in her head, the same and yet somehow each distinct. It took a moment for Mel to get her bearings.

 _"Thank you,"_ she answered, trying to buy time to think of something else to say.

_"We are The Sentries. We have kept watch over Minas Tirith and its people for many seasons, and our ancestors for many seasons before that."_

"What are they saying?"

Boromir's voice in her ear made Mel jump and Boromir touched her elbow to steady her. The warmth from his touch spread through her body, but she pushed it aside. There were more important things right now.

"What are they saying, Melody?" he asked again.

"They're called the Sentries," she said, "They consider themselves the protectors of the city."

_"Tell the Son of Gondor that we will do what is necessary, Calenhiril. Tell him that we face the darkness with honor."_

She looked up at Boromir and grinned.

"They know you."

His eyebrows went up.

"They call you the Son of Gondor," Mel said, "They say they'll face the darkness with honor."

"Yeah, but can they help us?" Pippin asked, his eyes still fixed on the branches below him, "What are you going to do?"

She turned her attention back to the trees. She used her mind to give the Sentries a picture of what she was thinking, showing the interlocking branches and the extra height needed to cover the gates. She also showed them what was coming as best she could, the army and the methods the Enemy had at his disposal to use against them. If they were going to put their lives on the line, they deserved to know what they were up against. But the Sentries never even flinched.

 _"This growth will require more energy than we have to give, Calenhiril,"_ they said, still speaking in that resonating unison.

 _"I know,"_ she said, _"Don't worry, we'll take care of that tomorrow."_

The trees gave way to this.

_"As you wish, Calenhiril. We will do what we can in the meantime."_

She sighed and rested her hands on the wall, the closest she could get to touching them.

"Thank you." She whispered aloud.

"They agree?" Boromir asked.

She nodded, taking a step back from the wall. Pippin looked up at her, then back down at the trees, then back at her, confused.

"Agreed to what? What's going on, Mel? What are you going to do?"

Boromir held Mel's gaze for a long time and Mel saw the concern and suspicion in his face. Somehow, he knew what she was planning was dangerous. She didn't know how he knew, but he did. She did everything in her power to convey a sense of complete confidence and innocence of what he suspected. But that look in his eyes never wavered.

"Master Peregrin," Boromir said, his eyes never leaving Mel's face, "I am giving you a special assignment. Tomorrow, you are to stay by Melody's side until her task is complete. If there is even the slightest hint that she might come to harm, you are to inform me at once, by any means necessary. Is that understood?"

Mel started to protest.

"Boromir, that really isn't necessa-"

"Is that understood, Peregrin Took?"

Boromir cut her off and looked down at Pippin with a fire that would have made a stout man cringe. Pippin stood a little straighter and nodded.

"Yes sir."

Boromir brought his eyes back to Mel and let them hover there for a long moment.

"Good."

Then he turned and walked away with his head held high, like a man that had successfully won an argument. Mel watched him go and shook her head, smiling. Sometimes she wondered if he knew her at all.

Pippin watched Boromir disappear down the stairs to the ground level before he turned back to Mel.

"Great. So, _now_ can you tell me what's going on?"

Mel looked down at him and laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late night update! Who loves you? I do! ;P Enjoy!

Mel woke the next morning feeling anxious, but determined. The night before had been surprisingly productive. Dinner was once again a strategic affair, but she had actually been included in a bit of the process, which made her both elated and nervous. Denethor had even called upon her to report on her progress. There hadn't been much for her to report, but to her surprise Lord Hurin had spoken up for her, reporting on his own dealings with the Gondorian guard and that an evacuation of the lower levels was already in progress. Her plan was to be put into action at her earliest convenience.

Which was this morning. Lord Hurin had not seen any problem with sealing off the main gate as soon as she arrived, since an engagement with the Enemy seemed imminent. So, after her exercises, she was going to the main gates of Minas Tirith to seal off the city with a couple of trees. When she thought about it that way, it sounded silly. But at least it was something. It kept her from thinking about the other things that threatened. The things that haunted her dreams at night.

_…the choice has been given to you… have her choose another… a life for a life… Be careful, little one…_

She got out of bed and dressed quickly in a pair of trousers and one of the tailored shirts that Loriel had made her. It was too much, too much to consider, too much to do. When she was given the choice, she would make it as she had made it before. There was nothing she could do until then. But despite her best efforts the nightmares and the memories just kept swirling around in the back of her mind. She needed to occupy herself with something.

There was a knock on her door.

"Come in!" she called as she pulled on her shirt.

Loriel pushed inside, bearing a tray of fruit, bread, and cheese

"I thought you might like some breakfast before you begin your work today," she said, setting the tray on the dressing table.

Mel's stomach wasn't feeling very settled, but she grabbed an apple anyway and stuffed it in her pocket.

"Thanks, I'll eat it after my exercises."

"Are you returning to the training grounds?"

"Yep," Mel said, strapping on her sword belt and checking to make sure it was placed well and secured.

"Do you think Vanion will be there?"

Mel looked up, startled at the disdain that dripped from Loriel's lips when she spoke his name, but the girl didn't allow her sentiments reach her face, impassive and calm as always.

"If he's there, I'll deal with it," Mel said, tightening her belt with more decisiveness than she was really feeling, "I'm not going to let him intimidate me."

Loriel dropped her eyes to the tray.

"I admire your courage, Mel."

"I don't know if it's courage as much as stubbornness."

"Well, either way I admire it."

Mel took her sword out, gave it a test swing, and then sheathed it again.

"Okay," she said, trying to sound resolute, "I'm out of here."

Loriel looked as if she might say something, but then stopped, her brow furrowed as if considering her words very carefully.

"Do you think…?" She paused again and collected herself, "Do you think it would be quite alright if I observed you in your exercises? I wouldn't disturb you at all."

That surprised a grin out of Mel.

"I actually think I'd love that," she said, "Come on, let's go."

Together the two women made their way through the corridors toward the training grounds. Loriel's silent, steady company somehow made the trek feel brighter. Mel's stomach was still a little queasy, but she could at least fake a bouncier step and a cheerier disposition for Loriel's sake.

They reached the training grounds and Mel braced herself for the stunned silence and the stares. But nothing happened. They walked into the courtyard and everything continued as normal, with no more than a few cursory glances their direction. Mel felt a weight lift off her chest. She hadn't realized how much of her anxiety had rested on this moment. She took a deep breath and strode confidently into the sunny training field. Loriel stood on the sidelines, leaning on one of the logs that marked the training boundaries, her eyes bright.

Mel took her sword out and swung it a few times. She felt self-conscious and conspicuous. It didn't feel right. Mel held her sword poised, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She pictured the indifference of the men around her, seasoned soldiers, and allowed herself to feel the acceptance that those indifferent looks contained. She had passed a test. She had nothing to prove and nothing to fear.

She opened her eyes and began one of her warm-up exercises. She focused on her footing and her stance, her sword position and her balance, taking what she had learned from the twins in Rivendell and what Boromir had taught her on the road to Gondor, trying to blend it all into a seamless whole. There was nothing else around her, only her sword and the ground under her feet. She let her thoughts slip away until her mind was empty of everything that she had to do; today, tomorrow, in the days to come. Nothing existed beyond this time. Step, thrust, parry, swing, step, slide, reverse...

She brought herself around and ended the exercise, pulling her mind together and back into the world she had left behind so briefly, feeling as if everything inside her had been pulled out and reorganized. Now she could concentrate on what was really important and right in front of her. Her eyes came back into focus and she realized with a little jerk of surprise she was face to face with a grinning Gondorian lord. It took a moment for her memory to provide her with a name to match the bright blue eyes.

"Lord Hirluin," she said finally, bowing awkwardly.

"So the rumors are true," Lord Hirluin said, "My men had told me of the woman who bested a Gondorian soldier in combat. I should have known it would be you, Lady Melody."

The fair-haired man unsheathed his sword and Mel instantly fell into a defensive crouch, her senses alert. He grinned and set himself into a defensive pose of his own.

"Would you care for a sparring partner, my lady?" he asked.

"If it please you, my lord," she answered, surprised at how easily she fell into a formal vernacular, "I only hope that I prove a worthy opponent."

He smiled and then struck, but it was slow and easy. Mel blocked and struck back, no longer seeing a lord or even a man. She saw only her opponent, watching only for clues to his next move, openings in his defense. She wasn't angry or afraid. She was merely sparring, impersonal and indifferent, as if she sparred with the air.

Lord Hirluin defended against her counterattack and took a step back, reevaluating her with an approving glance. He had underestimated her, as everyone seemed to. She supposed it was natural, there didn't appear to be very many women with an interest in swordsmanship to compare to. Few were in a position to need the skills as she was. Mel kept herself calm and watched the lord carefully, not allowing any pride to cloud her vision. He knew now that she was more than he had first thought and he would adjust accordingly. He didn't do her the disservice of trying to taunt her or distract her. Instead they circled one another silently, each searching the other for the slightest blip, a chink in the armor that might be exploited.

Unfortunately, Mel was the first to provide that opportunity. She twisted her feet underneath her and for one brief moment her concentration was broken. That moment was all the time Lord Hirluin needed. He lashed out with lightning speed leaving Mel with only a fraction of a second to bring her sword about to parry his blow. He was on her before she had a chance to retaliate, striking again and again, forcing Mel to block and retreat. She was losing ground, both physically and mentally. She was losing this battle. But she could hear the gruff voice of Orodion, the Warden of Eilenach, echoing in her mind.

_…at least pretend you might win…_

She caught Hirluin's blade again, and this time tossed it aside, straightening herself and throwing out a swing that went wide, but caught the lord off-balance. She used that to get herself back on the offense, throwing blow after blow and sending him retreating back across the practice field. But none of her blows were getting through. She could feel her arms getting tired and knew she wouldn't be able to keep this up. And though he continued to retreat, Hirluin showed no signs of tiring.

Then it happened. Her arm faltered and Mel brought her sword down short. Hirluin took the opportunity, caught her blade and with a flick of his wrist sent it flying out of her hands. His sword point came to a stop barely an inch from her chest. She stood perfectly still, trying not to breathe too deeply.

"Forfeit," she gasped, "I forfeit."

Hirluin lowered his sword and then retrieved hers from the dust at his feet, handing her the hilt with a smile.

"A worthy opponent indeed, Lady Melody. Well met."

Mel smiled, but was trying too hard to catch her breath for any kind of reply. She sheathed her sword and bowed instead. Hirluin returned the bow, and Mel took a little comfort in the fact that he seemed to be breathing a little harder too.

"Mel!"

They both turned toward Pippin's voice as he sprinted across the practice ground. He wore such a grin across his face that it seemed to light Mel up from the inside. He skidded to a stop beside her and Mel put a hand on his shoulder, turning back to her sparring partner cheerfully.

"Lord Hirluin, may I present Peregrin Took of Tuckborough in the Shire."

"Ah, the halfling!" Hirluin said, saluting Pippin who returned the gesture, "I had heard rumor that one was among us. It is an honor to meet you, Master Peregrin."

"The honor is mine, sir," Pippin answered with such politeness that Mel glanced down at him in surprise. He met her eyes and grinned, a much more familiar mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Shall we go, my lady?" the little hobbit said, offering his arm in mock gallantry, "I believe we have an appointment."

Mel raised an eyebrow at him, then turned and bowed again to Lord Hirluin.

"Forgive me, my lord, but it appears I have a previous engagement."

He bowed also, his own eyes twinkling with a barely contained laugh.

"Of course, Lady Melody. Until out next meeting."

Mel looked down at the hobbit, still holding out his arm and shoved it away playfully, which made him cry out in indignation. Mel just laughed.

"Come on, you little hooligan. Let's see what kind of trouble we can get into."

As they walked off the practice field together, Mel smiled and waved at Loriel, who returned the gesture before she spun and hurried off in another direction.

"Who's she?" Pippin asked as they walked out into the sunshine of the Citadel.

"She's a friend," Mel said, "She wanted to watch me practice."

"It's just that most of the women and children have left the city," Pippin said, "I wonder why she stayed behind."

Mel thought about it for a minute. She knew this, of course, but she had never really _thought_ about it before.

"Well… this is her home, Pippin," she said finally, "When something bad happens, sometimes all you really want is to be home."

"Is that what you want, Mel?" Pippin asked, staring at his toes on the pavement, "Do you want to be home?"

She looked down at her little hobbit friend, so somber now and grown up. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

"I am home, Pip."

And as they walked through the streets of the city and Mel watched the people scurrying in and out of the buildings and alleyways, she realized she wasn't just saying it to make him feel better. It was true. She was home. It was a nice thought.

When they reached the main gates, Lord Hurin was waiting for them.

"Are you ready, Lady Melody?"

His face was solemn, as if he were about to perform last rites over a body. It was not a comforting expression. Mel nodded, trying to settle her stomach which had decided to tie up in knots. Lord Hurin leaned over the edge of the wall and signaled to a troop of soldiers waiting down below. They saluted, then went to work. Mel heard the sound of creaking metal as the large iron doors slowly rolled into place, coming together with a resounding clang that made the stone under her feet vibrate. Lord Hurin turned back to Mel and took a step back with a formal bow.

"The gate is yours, my lady."

Mel took a breath to steady herself, squeezed Pippin's shoulder one more time, and then stepped up to the edge of the wall. She put both her hands on the stones and closed her eyes. Immediately, she could feel the Sentries, their twin consciousness rising up to greet her.

_"We are ready, Calenhiril."_

One last deep breath… let it out slowly…

 _"Okay,"_ Mel said, _"Let's do this."_

She reached down inside herself and found that ball of light within her, the light that pulsed to match the pounding in her ears, the light that she knew held an unimaginable power. She focused on that light, turning it over in her mind, and then felt a strand come loose of the whole and draw itself out, twisting and writhing out into the void. She shifted her focus to this string of light, gently drawing it out further from the whole, guiding it slowly down, down to where she could feel the Sentries twining upward, reaching out. But it was not quite enough. Mel stretched this thread, stretched it until she thought it might break, until finally, with one last hopeful tug, her light touched the the trees.

There was a flash of brilliance (Mel wasn't ever sure if it was real or only in her head) and she felt the trees latch on to that line of power, felt it coursing through her, down the wall, and slip into the Sentries. She could feel everything, branches stretching, the unfolding of new leaves, the creak as new wood grew to hold it all. Somewhere far away there was the faint echo of human gasps, but these were unimportant, insignificant compared to the work that was needed, the lattice of strength and structure that would cover the gates of Minas Tirith and keep her people safe for just a little while, just a little while longer. The light inside her pulsed and fluttered and she pushed it further, forcing the trees into every nook and cranny, out and then inward, shaping the branches, braiding them together to form strong ropes that were then woven over the cold gates of metal, a living shield… safe… just a little while longer… so much space… so little to fill it with… Her knees began to tremble with every pulse of light, but she pressed her hands to the rough stone… just a little while longer…

"Mel?"

A tiny voice in the distance, the voice of a small creature, so insignificant, pierced her thoughts…

…no… not insignificant… Pippin…

"Mel, are you all right?"

No… No, but she couldn't stop, she wasn't finished. There was too much left, too much... She rushed down into the web of light, following it into ever corner, finding and filling the weakest points as fast as she could, weaving, weaving an impenetrable wall. It had to be stronger... She had to hold on… just a little while longer…

"Mel?"

The tiny voice sounded frightened. No. _Pippin_ sounded frightened. But she couldn't reassure him, she had to concentrate, there was too much to be done… she could feel the light fading with each pulse... slower… fainter… too much… too much…

Mel grabbed hold of that thin line of light and gave one final, mighty tug…

* * *

Boromir woke that morning feeling anxious. This was the morning that Melody would attempt a feat that, despite her reassurances, he was certain would be dangerous and he could not be there with her. He had sent Pippin in his stead, but truth be told he was not confident that the little hobbit had what was needed to keep Melody out of harm's way, especially when she was determined to throw herself into it. But there was nothing for it. His father insisted that Lord Golasgil's men must be armed and ready for battle, despite their small numbers and poor supplies. Anfalas wasn't known as a rich community, mostly farmers and a few tradesmen. But they were loyal enough and came ready to defend their country and people from the Enemy. That was all the encouragement Boromir needed. He could equip them and prepare them as best he could, but their own courage would see them much farther than any training he could provide.

He was discussing the strategies that might best be employed with Lord Golasgil, when the anxiety that had been fluttering at the back of his mind all day was finally realized.

"Boromir! Boromir!"

Pippin's panicked voice cut him short in the midst of a sentence. He grabbed the young hobbit as he ran, jerking him to a halt and taking both his small shoulders in his hands to steady him.

"What is it, Pippin? What has happened?"

His voice was calm, but his heart was pounding.

"Mel," Pippin gasped, "She collapsed. I tried…"

He didn't hear the boy's excuses. He was already running, the echoes of Golasgil's protests and Pippin's shorter footfalls fading behind him.

_Not her_ _… Please…_

He didn't know how he reached the gate, he couldn't remember what route he took, but in the span of what felt like seconds and a hundred lifetimes, he was there. Melody was already sitting up on the edge of the wall. Boromir took the steps two at a time and knelt beside her. She looked up at him and blinked as if trying to bring him into focus. Then she smiled.

"Oh," she said in a voice that sounded like it was trying too hard not to sound weary, "Boromir, it's you. What are you doing here?"

Boromir was not fooled for an instant by her flippant tone. He took one of her hands in his and brushed her hair back from her pale face. Her skin was cold as ice.

"Pippin came for me, Melody," he answered gently.

She rolled her eyes.

"Silly hobbit," she said breathlessly, "I'm fine! No reason to worry."

He was not at all convinced. Her hand trembled in his and she still had not made any effort to get up. She must have seen the doubt in his face because she raised an eyebrow, then reached into her pocket and pulled out an apple, waving it in the air as if it were indisputable proof of her condition.

"I just missed breakfast, that's all. Nerves made me queasy," She took a bite of the apple and grinned as if this was the solution to all, "Now help me up, Boromir. I wanna see."

He didn't care for the casual disregard of her condition, but as she appeared to be determined, he took both her hands and pulled her gently to her feet, allowing her to lean on his arm for support. She wobbled for a minute, but soon steadied herself. It was only then that Boromir saw Lord Hurin staring down over the wall, the breeze ruffling his clothes.

"She did it," Hurin muttered under his breath in a sort of awestruck reverence, "I didn't think she would… but she did it."

Boromir helped Melody to the wall side and Lord Hurin jumped slightly at their approach. He stared at her for a moment with wide eyes and then bowed low.

"My lady," he said bluntly, "I must admit I doubted your power. I doubt no longer. I do not know what strength it might lend us, but I thank you for it."

Boromir scowled at the old man. It seemed a pretty poor apology for the way Lord Hurin had treated her thus far, but when he glanced down at Melody he saw that she was regarding Lord Hurin not with disdain, but a sort of puzzled surprise.

"I give what I can gladly, Lord Hurin," she said finally, "As do we all."

Boromir felt a small swell of pride. She sounded so sure of herself, so confident and proud, as her talents and heart demanded. Lord Hurin did not responded, only bowed again and swept off the wall. Boromir watched him go with narrowed eyes, but his attention was soon drawn back to Melody, who was now tugging him closer to the wall. He allowed her to pull him forward and leaned over to see what all this grief had wrought.

It was… astonishing. As if a green wall had been built where the gates once stood. The trunks of the Sentries climbed the stone on either side, arching over the gates and entwining the branches in such a way that one could not tell where one tree ended and another began. There was no gap in the wood, thick and solid, and though the breeze ruffled the leaves in waves, the branches did not waver. Boromir tore his eyes from the amazing sight and stared at Melody, feeling a bit of the awe that he had heard tinge Lord Hurin's voice. She was smiling. Boromir's chest tightened.

"Just as it should be," she whispered.

"Lady Melody, please, if you would come with us…"

They both turned toward the high-pitched voice. Behind them stood two ladies of the Healing House, dressed in white and looking quite distressed. Melody rolled her eyes.

"I'm telling you, I'm fine."

"But my lady!" one of the healers cried, "You suffered trauma to the extent that you fainted! You are weak and require treatment."

"Weak, my ass," Melody muttered under her breath, but aloud she said, "I assure you, ladies, that I am quite all right. I just need rest, which I am just as likely to get in my own room."

"I agree with them, Melody," Boromir said, in a tone that he desperately hoped would brook no argument. If he didn't speak now, she might not get the treatment he was sure she needed, "It would be best if you went with the healers."

Her eyes flashed with a furious green fire and she stepped out of his touch, standing under her own power, tall and proud.

"Well, then I guess it's a good thing I'm not under your command, Lord Boromir," She snapped, tossing her hair out of her eyes, "I'm going to my room. Good day to all of you."

She turned on her heel and marched away. Boromir watched her go in stunned silence, feeling more confused than ever. He had only wanted to help her. Why had she pulled away? He turned away from the gaping ladies of Healing and leaned against the wall, looking down at the Sentries, now proper guardians of the city. He envied them, not for their strength, but that they comprehended the mind of Melody Calenhiril, something he was certain he would never do.

* * *

For a little while, Mel was actually pretty pleased with herself. The way she had flounced off, anyone would have thought she was perfectly alright, just like she'd said. But it didn't take long for Mel to remember that she was definitely _not_ alright. She managed to hitch a ride up the levels on a horse-drawn cart carrying the belongings of a small family and finished off the apple she had put in her pocket. When they reached the Citadel she hopped off the back of the cart and stumbled, the world spinning around her for a second before it managed to steady itself. She pulled herself upright, and tried to walk into the Citadel with dignity. She did okay for a while, but by the time she reached the corridor to her room, she was seeing black spots and holding on to the wall to keep herself upright, breathing heavily though she'd never moved at a faster pace than a walk, her whole body screaming in protest of any movement. The only thing that kept her going was a steady reminder of her journey with the Fellowship, how hard it had been and how far she had gone, how she had pushed herself past the limit of her own endurance and lived.

 _You_ _'re just getting soft, Mel,_ she told herself. _All this city living is making you flabby. You can do this. This is nothing._

She finally reached her room and managed to push open her door. Then with the last of her strength she stumbled across the floor, pulled herself into bed, and immediately fell into a deep, dark blackness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, I'm kind of failing at getting chapters posted as often as I'd planned :) I will try my hardest to get another chapter posted before the end of the week, but I'm not making any promises. Also, next week I'm going on vacation, so there will be no update that week. Okay, I think that's it, on with the story!

Boromir did not know how long he stood upon the wall, but it was long enough for a crowd of onlookers to come, murmuring words of awe at Melody's display, and then disband again, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He was so very deep in his own mind that when his brother's voice called his name, it startled him. Faramir bounded nimbly up the steps and leaned over the side of the wall to look at the work that had been done on the gates.

"Well," he said, cheerfully, "The lady certainly delivers what she promises. I imagine that will withstand quite a beating when the Enemy comes."

Boromir grunted and looked away, his eyes roaming the empty plains of the Pelennor. He didn't want to think about the wall or the gates or what they might have cost. He could feel Faramir's gaze on him, but he ignored it.

"Is something troubling you, brother?" Faramir said finally, "We've hardly spoken since you've come home."

Boromir dropped his head and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his thoughts to settle into some kind of comprehensible pattern, something familiar, something he could follow and relay to his brother. Faramir was the most perceptive man he knew, if there were anyone that could help him sort out his troubled mind, it was him. But where to start? He opened his eyes and a tendril of the branch from the trees below fluttered within his line of sight. He felt the irrational urge to reach out and rip it from the stone, but he resisted.

"This blasted thing," he muttered, scowling and waving a hand at the tender green shoot and encompassing the gates below in the gesture, "Damn nuisance. She'll want all the gates done now. She has already spoken of attempting the next."

Faramir nodded, "That's not such a bad idea."

Boromir's chest suddenly exploded with a white hot fury and he whirled to glare at his brother.

"Do you know what this did to her?" he shouted, shaking an angry finger at the branches and leaves spilling over the wall, "It took everything she had! When will she stop? When she is dead? Damn foolish, stubborn girl, doesn't know what's good for her! How am I supposed to…?"

Boromir stopped suddenly and took a step back, sucking in a cool breath of air and lowering his clenched fists to his sides. Faramir was staring at him, his eyes widened not with fear, but a sort of disbelief. Boromir sighed and passed a hand over his eyes. He suddenly felt very tired.

"Forgive me," he said, his voice reflecting a bit of the weariness he felt, "That was uncalled for. I don't know what has come over me."

"You worry for her," Faramir said, sounding as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

"The woman confounds me!" Boromir exclaimed, turning back to lean against the wall, "She doesn't make sense! Things were so much simpler before…"

He bit his tongue. He didn't want to talk about that. About what had happened to him, to his mind, the things he had said…

… _you don't belong… you aren't welcome… no one wants you…_

"Boromir?"

Faramir's voice broke through his memory and Boromir closed his eyes, dropping his head to his chest.

"Before what?"

He sighed. Faramir was never one to leave a conversation unfinished.

"Before… Before I lost myself," he said finally, "Before I became what _he_ wanted of me."

Boromir opened his eyes and glared at the flaming mountain of Mordor in the distance, belching out its smoke and darkness, wishing with everything in him that he could reach out and swat the Enemy away, erase his very existence from the history of the world.

"It seems that, ever since then… Melody and I, we've been…"

He paused, searching for the right words.

"…playing a game of strategy. Only I don't know all the rules. I keep moving my pieces across an unfamiliar board, but every day it feels as if I am only losing more ground."

Faramir suddenly laughed which made Boromir jump and stare up at his brother. He wasn't aware that he had said anything funny and Faramir seemed to quickly realize that his brother did not get the joke.

"I'm sorry, Boromir, I'm sorry," he said, trying to stifle his chuckles, "It just occurs to me that you compare everything in your life to a battle, even things such as this."

Boromir stared at Faramir, still as puzzled as ever.

"Things such as what?"

The humor in Faramir's expression vanished. He stared at Boromir, as if to make sure he wasn't the one who was joking now.

"Oh," he said finally, the word barely more than a breath of air, still searching Boromir's puzzled expression, "You… you haven't realized it have you?"

Boromir continued to wait, unwilling to repeat his desire for Faramir to explain himself. After a long moment, in which Boromir nearly turned and just walked away, Faramir finally smiled and shook his head.

"Oh brother, I am truly sorry. Only I never thought you wouldn't recognize it."

He put his hand on Boromir's shoulder and squeezed, his eyes alight with affection.

"Boromir, you love her."

For just a moment, Boromir stared blankly at his brother, trying to comprehend the words he was hearing. Love her? He… _loved_ her? No, that wasn't… He had felt desire for a woman before, more than once. He knew what that was and what he felt for Melody was entirely different. It seemed an _insult_ to put the two feelings in the same thought. He had never tried to define it in words before. It felt undefinable. It wasn't desire. It was… a _need_. He _needed_ to be with her, _needed_ to take care of her, _needed_ to keep her safe. That was why he had brought her here, to Minas Tirith, because he needed to make sure that she was safe and cared for. Because she belonged here… with him… because…

Because he needed her.

Because he loved her.

Faramir smiled as what should have been obvious to Boromir suddenly became clear.

"I love her," he said, testing the words, hearing them aloud, and a familiar fire flared up in his chest, not the destructive flame of anger, but the slow warmth of hearth and home. How had he never recognized it? He stared at his brother in disbelief.

"Faramir… I _love_ her."

His brother grinned and slapped him on the back.

"I know, brother! Everyone knows! I am nearly certain that you are the last person in the city to work it out. Except, of course, our dear Mel, for whom I now feel a great deal of sympathy that she's had to put up with your blindness for so long."

A squeezing panic suddenly knotted around the warmth in Boromir's heart. He loved Melody. He knew that now. But what were her feelings for him? She had never said… they had never spoken… What if he had lost her before he knew she was there to lose?

"Faramir," he said, grabbing his brother's arm, "Have you spoken to her? What does she say?"

His brother shook his head, grinning with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Brother, the heart of a woman is a strange and complex labyrinth. But if you wish to know Mel's feelings for you, I think you need only ask. In fact, I believe that may be just the move she's been waiting for you to make."

He had to see her. He had to tell her before he lost her. How could he have been so foolish? It had been right there, all along, and he had not the mind to see it.

"I must go to her."

Faramir took a step back, clearing his way with a grand sweeping gesture. But before he went, Boromir took his brother's hand in a strong grip.

"Thank you, Faramir," he said, "I don't know what would become of me were it not for you."

Faramir clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly.

"Name one of your many children after me! Now go."

Boromir smiled and left the wall, headed for the Citadel.

* * *

When Mel woke up, it was dark. She felt disoriented. Hadn't it just been morning? What time was it? She started to sit up and all of her muscles tensed painfully. She must have bruised herself up when she'd collapsed on the wall. There was a lamp on her bedside table and after a little bit of fiddling she finally figured out how to light it. At the end of the bed was a covered tray and her stomach suddenly felt as if it were trying to gnaw its way out of her abdomen. All she'd had to eat was an apple. She crawled over the bed and lifted the lid on the tray. There was a bowl of soup, a hunk of bread, and some fresh fruit. The soup was lukewarm, so either it was well past lunch-time and almost supper, or it was well past supper-time and she'd slept quite a bit longer than she should have. It didn't matter. She had already eaten the bread and the soup and was starting in on one of the apples before she even noticed the carefully folded piece of paper with her name delicately inscribed on it. She grabbed the note and sat back against her pillows, munching her apple as she read:

_My Dear Mel,_

_I came to you at midday and supper time, but you slept so well that I did not wish to wake you. I hope this tray will suffice for your supper. If you require anything else the kitchen should be able to supply what you need. Feel free to avail yourself of whatever you might find. The Steward sends his best wishes for a speedy recovery and also his congratulations concerning your wonderful success at the main gates. I have seen it, Mel, it is glorious! I hope to find you well rested in the morning._

_Regards, Loriel._

At the bottom of the note, scribbled as if it were an afterthought, she had put: _Lord Boromir wishes to see you as soon as you are able. He seemed to think it quite urgent. -L_

Mel stared at that last line for a moment, rolling her apple core absently in her hand. What could be so urgent that Boromir would bother Loriel to put it in her note? Mel racked her brain and couldn't come up with anything so important that it couldn't wait until morning. Besides, it was late. He was probably asleep by now.

Mel tossed the core onto the empty tray and crawled back under the bed covers, thinking she might fall asleep again. But her all-day nap had done its work too well. After lying in bed for an indeterminable amount of time, still stubbornly awake, she finally huffed and swung her feet to the floor. She was still in her rumpled clothes from that morning, so she quickly threw on one of the less ornate dresses in her closet, a black gown with black thread embroidery. She hadn't liked it when she'd first seen it, it looked like something you should wear to a funeral, but all the others seemed too fancy for a late night wander. She splashed some water on her face, ran a brush through her hair, and slipped out into the deserted corridors.

The Citadel was eerily quiet, like someone had placed a thick blanket over everything, muffling all sound. A chill crept up Mel's spine and she shivered, but kept on walking. This might be her last opportunity to see the rest of the Citadel before all hell broke loose. She didn't know how much of the city would be damaged or lost in the siege, but she didn't intend to miss out on anything if she could help it. But even with this resolve firmly planted in her mind, she still found herself tip-toeing and peering around corners, strangely on edge. Something just didn't feel right.

She passed through several corridors that looked very similar to the one she was housed in before she finally emerged someplace familiar. The open courtyard was just as quiet and eerie as the rest of the citadel, with only the White Tree of Gondor standing stark and ghostly in the starless night, surrounded by the still and silent black guards. Nothing stirred. No breeze rustled the black cloaks, there were no absent, restless movements. They were like statues, guarding the remains of a great treasure that had long ago dried up. Mel took a careful step forward, watching for any sign that the guards might stop her, but none of them moved. She walked past them and stood before the dead tree. She placed her hand on its smooth, dry bark and closed her eyes, searching for anything, any sign, anything that she might have missed. But it was empty. Just a hunk of wood lodged in the ground, the memory of a time long past, when Men were ruled by great Kings and everything seemed possible. She sighed and opened her eyes, patting the trunk in a comforting gesture. That day was coming again.

"Not soon enough," she whispered.

Then something caught her eye and her head jerked up. There was a light. A glimmer in the tall tower above the Citadel, the Tower of Ecthelion, that vanished almost as quickly as it had come. Mel scanned the tower, searching. She didn't see it again, but she knew it had been there. Her stomach twisted into a knot. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

She turned away from the tree and strode across the courtyard as calmly as she could, headed toward the Hall of Kings. She didn't want to alarm the guards. After all, it could be nothing. She could be imagining things. She didn't know what she had seen. She made her way up the wide stone steps and slipped through the doors of the hall.

Once inside, the door closed firmly behind her, she allowed herself to walk a little faster. She didn't know what had possessed her to think that some light in a tower was something to get all worked up about. But she knew that she'd rather be wrong and look foolish, then be right and not get there in time. Something was happening, something _wrong,_ she could feel it in the heavy air, every fiber of her being on edge in a way she had never felt before. She hurried through the Hall of Kings, sparing no glances at the marvelous statues of the great rulers who had once presided over Gondor and Arnor. These men were dead and there were men yet living who needed her attention more. She passed the throne of Gondor, stark white on its high pedestal, the Steward's chair a black monolith at its foot. They were barely more than blurs as she rushed by, toward a small door at the back of the hall.

Now she was in a small courtyard, a covered walkway leading straight to the smooth white surface of the Tower of Ecthelion. There was a dark narrow arch in the side of the tower and Mel shivered as she approached it and cautiously peeked inside. A set of stairs spiraled upward toward the tower's top. Something whispered in her mind that there was danger here, something was wrong, and for a brief moment she considered going back for help. But what could she base her plea on? A bad feeling? A chill up her spine? A hunch? No one was going to take that seriously. She had to figure out what was wrong first. Then she could get help.

She took the first few tentative steps up the stairs. Her anxiety did not go away. She kept climbing, the darkness closing in as she ascended. There were no torches in the stairway and she briefly entertained the idea of going back for one. But she knew if she turned around now, she would never be able to force herself up these steps again. The darkness, the feeling of _wrong_ , was so strong that she couldn't turn back. She had to do something _now,_ or she never would. She kept climbing.

A faint light glimmered ahead and even though the darkness of the stairs was oppressing, the light seemed even more frightening than the darkness. Mel edged her way forward and finally saw a door at the top of the stairs, the light fluttering around its edges. It wasn't torchlight. Torchlight flickered and moved like a living organism. This light… It took a moment for Mel to place where she had seen light like this before because it had been so long, what felt like lifetimes. It was like the light from a movie projector, moving but mechanical and artificial in its brilliance. Slowly, Mel reached out a trembling hand and pushed at the door.

The top of the Tower of Ecthelion was just a large round room, white marble and smooth surfaces, sterile and empty. A small pedestal in the center was the only furnishing of any kind that Mel could see. She peeked a little farther in, searching for the source of the light that danced across the white walls. A balcony faced out over the Citadel and a man stood there with his back to her, a sphere cupped in his hands. It was from this sphere that the light came and Mel felt a trickle of cold dread drip through her veins, spreading out to every inch of her. She knew that black glowing sphere. It was a palantir, the palantir of the White Tower. And as she watched in horror, the man gazing into it turned slightly, bringing his profile into sharp relief against the flickering light of the orb.

It was Denethor.

The Steward studied the images flashing across his face with an intensity and a passion that frightened Mel more than anything she had seen. A line of sweat traced the line of his jaw and his brow was furrowed into deep crags as he concentrated all his energy on the glowing orb, images flitting over its smooth black surface faster than Mel could really see, but none of them looked pleasant. Mel didn't know what to do, her mind was frozen up. Whatever Denethor was seeing, it was exactly what he was meant to see, what _Sauron_ wanted him to see. And if he could see the Dark Lord's mind that meant Sauron could see his as well. How much had he already given him? What had he done?

The wooden door creaked under Mel's hand and Denethor jerked toward the noise, his expression morphing into a mix of snarling anger and fear. Before he could speak the palantir flared to life, as if the black stone had caught fire, and Denethor's face twisted in pain and horror.

"No!" he shouted as his eyes squeezed shut and he doubled over, wrestling with the palantir, "No, no, _no_!"

Without thinking, Mel raced across the room as the Steward fell to his knees, still fighting the darkness that was licking around his hands and arms, trying to overwhelm him. She could hear the whispers, the same whisper she had heard in her mind in the presence of the Ring, only now it was audible, whispering despair and darkness into the still night air.

" _ **I am coming, Steward of Gondor. I am coming for you, for your sons, for your city and your people. You are abandoned. You are alone. You will not turn me aside. I am coming and I will take the throne which you could never possess."**_

Tears of frustration and anger trickled from the corners of Denethor's tightly closed eyes as he set his jaw and shook his head.

"No," he ground out through clenched teeth, "No. You did not take him from me before. You will not take him now. No. _No_!"

He cried out as the fire flared up once more. The images flew through the black depths of the palantir, images of the army that was coming, of the destruction and the terror they brought with them. Mel almost snatched the palantir right out of his hands, but at the last minute she thought better of it. If the Enemy could see into the mind of the Steward, what might he wrench from her if she touched it? There was too much at stake to risk that. She looked around frantically for anything she could use and saw a cloak tossed on the floor. She grabbed it, threw it over the palantir in the Steward's hands, gathered the edges together and pulled.

The stone came loose of the Steward's grip and Mel let it roll itself into the cloak, not daring to touch even the covered surface. Denethor collapsed into a heap on the floor and was still. Mel's heart stopped. Frantically, she crawled to him and put her hand to his neck. There was a pulse, but it was faint and his breathing was shallow. Feeling a rush of relief, Mel scrambled to her feet and raced down the stairs of the tower, screaming as loud as she could.

"Help! Somebody help! Please, _help_!"


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! :D
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my good friend JaimeLouise, who is celebrating her BIRTHDAY today! (or yesterday... this chapter is getting posted a bit later than anticipated ;P) Feel free to thank her profusely in the comments below and wish her many happy returns, because without her you all would probably still be waiting on me ;P

Boromir knew he should be sleeping. The next few days would be crucial, far too important to be losing sleep. And he had tried. He had opened the doors to the gardens so the breeze could whisper through his room. He had laid down, closed his eyes, tossed and turned and tried to clear his troubled mind, all in vain. Nothing brought sleep any closer.

He had not been able to speak to Melody. He had tried several times, but the little maidservant had met him at the door and repeatedly turned him away, refusing to disturb Melody's sleep. And in truth Boromir was grateful for this, though it irked him. He knew what Melody's stubborn foolishness had cost her, even if she was not willing to admit it. She needed her rest. But still he had tried to see her just once more, when supper was over and there was still no sign of her. Still nothing. He had at last convinced the servant girl to leave a message, that he wished to speak to Melody as soon as possible. After that he had retired to his room to wait. But she hadn't come. As the night ebbed away, he had finally been forced to conclude that she was not coming, at least not tonight. He would have to speak to her in the morning.

And so he had tried to sleep. But sleep had eluded him. And that was why he was awake when the commotion began.

At first it was only the slamming of a door in the distance. But it was enough to rouse Boromir from his thoughts and open his eyes. He stared at the ceiling. Another door slammed, closer this time. The sounds of running feet beat a loud staccato against the stone walls of the corridors. Boromir swung out of bed, his brow furrowed as he listened to a fist pound against another door close by. There was a murmur of frantic voices. Another door slammed. They were running again, more of them now, running toward his own room. Boromir swept to his feet and opened the door, peering out into the dimly lit hallway. Two servants with torches led a rumpled Gandalf down the hall, Pippin stumbling after them, rubbing his eyes. Boromir stepped out into the corridor and shut the door behind him.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice echoing ominously against the stones. He did not like the look of this.

The servants came to a startled halt in the hall.

"My Lord Boromir!" one of them said, "We were just coming for you, sir."

"And now I am here," he said, feeling more anxious with every moment wasted on these formalities, "What's happened?"

The servants exchanged a quick, furtive look.

"It's… your father, Lord Boromir," one said finally, "He's… had an accident…"

"Accident!" Gandalf snorted, "A fool's fate is what he's suffered. The fall of a proud fool."

"Tell me on the way." Boromir said, already striding down the corridor as the servants rushed to regain their lead, but he took one by the shoulder and turned him aside, "Fetch Faramir."

The servant nodded and ran in the other direction. Gandalf caught up and Boromir found himself hard-pressed to keep up with the wizard's long, angry strides.

"Your father was found in the Tower of Ecthelion!" he snapped, annoyance clear in his voice, "There is only one reason I would be summoned to his side at this hour and it does not bode well for us. I fear what we might have lost this night."

"I don't understand you," Boromir said, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him even as a knot twisted in his gut. He knew as well as the wizard what resided inside the White Tower and Gandalf was not fooled by his attempt at ignorance.

"I think you might, though you would not care to see it. But I will speak no more until we have seen the truth of things."

Boromir preferred it that way. He could think of only one reason his father would venture into the Tower of Ecthelion so late at night, and he was certain that the wizard had drawn the same dark conclusion. But could his father really be so foolish? And if so, what had happened tonight that was different from any other night? What had changed? What had his father seen that would make Gandalf so anxious? As they rushed silently down the corridors of the Citadel toward the Houses of Healing, Boromir wondered what he would find when he arrived.

* * *

Mel got out of her chair for the fifth time in as many minutes and stood at Denethor's bedside. The healers had done all they could, but physically there wasn't much wrong with the Steward. His mind had shut down, leaving only the bare minimum operating to keep him alive. She reached out and brushed a bit of gray hair away from his face. She hadn't told anyone what had happened in the Tower of Ecthelion. She had lied to the black guard that had come running at the sound of her shouts, told him she'd found Denethor collapsed and went looking for help. She hadn't seen the point in making an already dangerous situation more complicated. The palantir remained on the floor at the top of the tower. Wrapped in its cloak, no one had seemed to notice it and Mel had made a point of pretending not to notice it either. She would have to tell Gandalf of course, but that could wait.

She covered Denethor's hand with her own; his skin felt thin and cold. He didn't frighten her now. After what she had seen and heard, it was no wonder to her that he had gone a little crazy. Sauron had been filling his mind with despair and heartache, feeding his pride and toying with his intellect. He had been stupid to use the palantir in the first place, but it had been in desperation and Mel could relate to that. She done some stupid things in her life when it looked like there was no other way. At least she could believe he had been trying to do the right thing, trying to find an advantage in a war he couldn't hope to win on his own. What kind of strength must it have taken for him to hold back even the small part of him that had survived for so long? He might be proud, but now Mel thought that he might have some reason to be.

She heard hurried footsteps in the corridor and glanced up. Boromir stood in the doorway, looking as if he had just gotten out of bed, rumpled clothes, bare feet, tousled hair, staring at her with wide eyes, as if he couldn't quite make sense of what he was seeing.

"Melody?"

The numbness that had been keeping her calm and rational evaporated. She started to tremble and she tried to take a few steps toward him, but she stumbled and had to grab the back of her chair to stay upright. Then he was there, holding her up and her face was buried in his shoulder and words were tumbling out of her mouth in strange, gasping breaths.

"I'm sorry, Boromir, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I didn't know what to do, I tried, I tried…"

She was shaking so badly that she thought she might vibrate apart if it weren't for Boromir's arms around her, holding her together, stroking her hair and whispering in her ear.

"It's alright, it's alright now Melody, everything is going to be alright…"

She gave herself until the count of ten, before taking three deep breaths and forcing herself back together. She was sure that the last thing Boromir wanted was to be comforting her, while his father was lying unconscious in the bed behind her. She pushed herself away and stood on her own, barely managing to keep her legs from trembling. But Boromir did not let go of her. With one hand still holding her steady, he brushed back her hair to see her better, and there was… something. Something in his expression, in the soft, gray eyes that roved her face, in the furrow that marked his brow. Something was different. Something had changed. Something she couldn't quite place…

Then Gandalf brushed past them to examine the unconscious Steward and Pippin stumbled in after him, looking half asleep.

"Mel?" the hobbit muttered, rubbing his eyes and squinting up at her, "What're you doing here? What's happening?"

Mel managed a shaky smile and ran a hand through the hobbit's messy curls.

"There was an accident, Pip. But it's going to be okay now."

"Melody, you must tell me _exactly_ what happened," Gandalf said, his voice stiff as he bent over Denethor's face, his hands hovering over his closed eyes, "Tell me everything."

So Mel did, as precisely as she could remember it. Gandalf worked as she spoke, brushing his hands through the air over the Steward's face, arms, and chest, his brow furrowed, his expression dark. At one point Faramir rushed in, looking just as sleep-rumpled as his brother, but he didn't interrupt and Mel didn't pause. She was afraid she might lose the details if she did, precious information that could possibly be the difference between Denethor's recovery or losing him forever. She didn't leave out anything, including the words spoken by Sauron and Denethor's reply.

_I am coming, Steward of Gondor. I am coming for you, for your sons, for your city and your people. You are abandoned. You are alone. You will not turn me aside. I am coming and I will take the throne which you could never possess._

_No_ _… You did not take him from me before… You will not take him now…_

As Mel repeated them, the words echoed in her head and something clicked into place, so suddenly that it stole her breath from her and her mouth hung open as bits and pieces of other conversations rolled through her mind, falling neatly into the suspicion that was now turning over and over in her mind.

_Boromir is dead_ _…_

… _the news came from Minas Tirith only days ago…_

_My son, my dear boy, how is it possible? I received news of your death and it tore my heart from me_ _…_

_You did not take him from me before_ _…_

… _before…_

"He saw it…" she whispered, her voice shaking, "Oh my god, he _saw it_ _…"_

"Melody?"

She jumped and looked at Boromir, staring at her, that same furrow still creasing his brow. Faramir stood beside him, his head tilted curiously to the side, watching her with a sort of fascination. Faramir, who should have been the one to discover the truth, to find the Horn of Gondor cleaved on the banks of the Anduin and so be the first to know of Boromir's fall… in another life… another story… There was no funeral boat here, the Horn of Gondor remained at Boromir's side. How else would Denethor have heard? Who would stand to gain the most from the Steward's despair?

"Melody," Boromir's gentle voice broke through her thoughts again, "What did he see?"

"Exactly what Sauron wished him to see!" Gandalf snapped, his furiously flashing eyes never leaving Denethor's impassive face, "Whether or not there was any truth in it."

Boromir ignored the wizard's frustrated outburst, his eyes fixed on Mel, waiting for her to explain.

"It's why everyone thought you were dead," She said, still feeling like she was pulling the pieces together in her mind, "He saw it. He must have. In the palantir. Sauron wanted to break him, to rip away any hope he might have left. Your father might have looked into the seeing stone hoping for answers, but Sauron has been playing this game a lot longer. He knew exactly what to show him to shatter his spirit."

She took a shuddering breath.

"He saw you die, Boromir. Sauron showed your father your death."

There was a deep, resonating silence as the realization of what had happened sank in for Boromir. Mel watched it happen, could see the emotions flickering across his face in rapid, unreadable succession.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Faramir said, looking just as confused as before, "How could Father have seen something in the palantir that never happened?"

There was a long pause. Faramir's eyes flicked from Mel's face to Boromir's, trying to understand what he could not possibly comprehend.

"Boromir? What is this?"

Mel was at a loss for words. How was she supposed to tell Faramir that his brother was never supposed to live? She met Gandalf's eyes and silently pleaded for his help. The wizard sighed and stood from where he knelt at the Steward's bedside.

"The world is changed, Faramir," he said, "In life, there are many paths that one can choose to follow. The path we are on was made by a choice," the wizard caught Mel's eye, but his expression was not unkind, "It was not a choice that the Enemy could foresee. Therefore he showed the Steward a different path, one with a different set of consequences."

"In which Boromir died," Faramir said, nodding, "I think I understand."

Mel knew that he didn't really, but it was probably the closest he was ever going to get. She looked down at the Steward of Gondor and her heart broke for him. She knew how much he loved his son, it was obvious. To not only know that he was dead, but to watch it happen, knowing there was nothing he could do… Well, she knew how she had felt, when it had all seemed hopeless and she had been sure that Boromir would die. She couldn't begin to imagine what his father must have gone through. She reached out and took his limp hand in hers, bringing it to her cheek and holding it there, imparting a little warmth into his cold skin.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm so sorry I ever doubted you."

Gandalf scoffed softly, but when he spoke his tone held that gentle gruffness that Mel suspected he reserved only for those he held in high regard, "He was a fool."

"He put the safety of the people before his own," Boromir said, in a flat, even tone that made Mel afraid to see his face, "He meant the best for them."

"A fool with good intentions is no less a fool, Boromir," Gandalf said, "It is a lesson you should learn and learn well."

The wizard turned back to Mel.

"I need the rest of your tale, Mel."

She looked up at him, startled. She had actually forgotten what she had been saying before.

"Oh… oh, right. Um, well, I wanted to take the palantir out of Denethor's hands, but I didn't want to touch it because, well, you know…" She bit her lip and shrugged self-consciously, "I know things, you know? And I didn't want to give Sauron the chance…"

She trailed off and Gandalf nodded, his face showing only the faintest trace of relief.

"That was very wise of you, Mel. I confess, I feared the Enemy might have gleaned some bit of information from you in the struggle for the seeing stone."

"As far as I know, he didn't get anything from me," Mel said fervently, "I never touched it, not directly anyway."

She then explained what she had done with the cloak, and how she and Denethor had gotten from the tower to the healers. Gandalf continued to study the Steward as she spoke, occasionally touching his face and forehead, but nothing seemed to change.

"So the palantir is still in the Tower of Ecthelion?" Gandalf asked.

"As far as I know."

Boromir spoke.

"I'll send someone to…"

"No!"

Pippin's shrill voice cut through the still air, surprising everyone. Mel had almost forgotten the hobbit was there. He looked frantically around the room, his eyes wide and panicked.

"You can't pick it up!" he said, his voice shaking, "No one can! You don't… You _can_ _'t…_ You won't let them, will you Gandalf?"

"No, Peregrin Took," Gandalf said, sweeping to the hobbit's side and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "No one will go near that tower. I will go and retrieve the stone." The wizard met Boromir's eyes with a hard edge, "No one will see or touch it until this business is over."

Boromir paused, but then nodded with no hint of argument or reluctance. This seemed to ease Gandalf's mind and he straightened, settling his shoulders.

"What about Denethor?" Mel asked, still clutching the Steward's cold fingers, "Is he going to be okay?"

The wizard sighed.

"I have done all I can for now. He has gone to a place in his mind where I cannot follow. I have knocked at the door, but he does not answer. He will return when he chooses. We must wait for him."

And with no more than that, Gandalf turned and swept out of the room. Mel swallowed and turned back to the Steward, squeezing his limp hand. She felt very much responsible for what had happened to him. If she hadn't startled him, he might have been alright. She didn't want to look at Boromir. She could feel his presence at her elbow, lingering just behind her. What if he thought the same thing? Would he blame her for what happened to his father?

After several long moments, his voice murmured softly in her ear.

"Melody, it is nearly dawn. You should try to get some sleep."

Mel shook her head. Though his kind words eased her fears a little, she still felt responsible for this and she would see it through.

"No, I'll stay with him a little longer."

Faramir moved to the other side of the bed and took Denethor's other hand.

"We can keep watch over him, Mel. You've done all you can."

But Mel shook her head again.

"The city needs you," she said, a little of her determined stubbornness strengthening her resolve, "You still have to finish preparing the defenses. The siege will start soon, and without your father to guide them, the soldiers will need you, both of you, more than ever."

She looked up and managed to smile at Boromir, who was still frowning down at her.

"I'm useless out there. I've done everything that I can. But I can do this for you."

Mel sat in her chair, still holding Denethor's hand, and looked up at the brothers, daring either of them to challenge her logic. Boromir looked very much like he wished to try, useless though it might be. The people of Minas Tirith needed strong leaders, men they could trust, and though Gandalf was strong and wise, the people didn't trust him, not the way they trusted the Steward's sons. Mel's own feelings of responsibility for Denethor's current condition had nothing to do with it. At least, that's what she told herself.

The brother's exchanged a glance and then Faramir shrugged.

"She's right, of course," he said, "There's still much to be done and Father would want us to prepare for it."

He gave the Steward a fond glance and then leaned down to kiss his forehead before releasing his hand and heading for the door.

"I'll go to the garrison," Faramir said decisively, "I'm sure word has already spread among the soldiers. There will be rumors that need quenching. Boromir, will you go to the wall?"

"Yes, in a moment,"

Faramir met Boromir's eyes briefly and it was as if there was an entire unspoken conversation in that brief gesture. Mel suddenly ached for her sisters. She missed that connection, the ability to know things about them just from their eyes.

Faramir nodded, then reached down and took Mel's free hand, startling her out of her homesickness.

"Our city is in your debt, Mel. I hope you may someday be repaid for the kindness you've shown us."

He smiled, with an almost mischievous glint in his eye, before he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles and, with a final nod to Boromir, disappeared into the corridor. Mel glanced up at Boromir, feeling slightly befuddled by his brother's apparent good humor, but instead of watching his brother, he was watching her. It wasn't so very different from how he'd always looked at her. But there was something… more. Something she couldn't quite place.

She turned back to the sleeping Steward.

"You should go. Faramir's right, there'll be rumors flying that'll need to be stopped."

But she could feel him move closer, rather than further away. She stiffened and took a deep, soothing breath, trying to make her heart stop pounding.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, "Yesterday…"

She waved it off.

"Nothing a little sleep didn't fix," She looked up at him and grinned, "But thank you for asking. I know I wasn't very nice to you yesterday."

For a moment he looked confused, as if he'd forgotten all about her harsh words. Something was definitely different about him. Mel wished she could put her finger on exactly what it was.

"Are _you_ alright?" she asked.

Boromir looked at her and Mel realized how idiotic that sounded, considering his father was in a _coma_ in the bed right next to them.

"No, of course you're not, sorry, that was a stupid question," she muttered dropping her eyes and feeling the heat rise to her face, "You should go…"

"Yeah, I'll keep an eye on her, Boromir."

Mel and Boromir both jerked their eyes across the room, startled. Pippin was seated on the other side of the Steward, his arm's folded and the barest hint of smirk on his face as his eyes flitted back and forth between them.

"What?" he said, "I _am_ a member of the Citadel guard. It is my sworn duty to protect the Steward. I'm staying right here."

Mel glanced up at Boromir, who met her eyes and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged.

"He has a point."

Boromir glanced between Pippin and Mel for a moment, before he finally gave in.

"Very well," he said.

"If anything changes we'll send for you," Mel said.

Boromir nodded, then put his hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before he turned away. Once his heavy footfalls had faded into silence, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She clasped Denethor's hand in both of hers, and Pippin mimicked the gesture.

"Do you really think everything will be alright, Mel?" he asked.

She looked up and forced a smile through the twisting anxiety that was threatening to cut her breath short.

"I'm sure it will, Pip."

 _It has to_ _…_ she thought.

_Please, Denethor_ _… Please wake up…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a horrible person, please don't hate me ;P


	12. Chapter 12

The rest of the morning was a blur. Despite his resolution to stay, Pippin soon fell asleep in his chair and Mel didn't have the heart to wake him. So she sat alone, holding the Steward's hand, and waited. There was nothing else she could do. If Gandalf had been unable to pull him out of whatever dark hole his mind had crawled into, nothing she did was going to make any difference. She barely remembered one of the healers bringing breakfast and checking Denethor's condition. Denethor slept right through, never moving or making any indication that he was aware of anything going on around him. The healer left. Mel still waited.

At some point, she began to talk. She'd heard somewhere that coma patients sometimes responded to familiar voices. She wasn't sure if that really applied here, but she didn't think it could hurt. So she started telling the Steward stories about her childhood, things she would never have dared to tell him, and that he would never have begun to understand, had he been conscious. But it helped pass the time. She told him about her mother, her sisters, even her father, anything she could think of. Then she started telling him the story of how she came to be there, starting with the day Boromir found her in the woods. It seemed like such an old story, something that had happened _years_ ago, not months. She told him about the Mines of Moria and about Lothlorien, about the golden tree Maltalda and Eregwen, the kind elf nurse who had cared for her. She hadn't thought of them in ages. She even told him of the painful choice she had made there, to stay behind in Lothlorien.

"It broke my heart," She said, her voice cracking, "Because I knew what was going to happen. Just like you saw it, in the palantir, and it broke your heart. Because I love him too, you know. I love Boromir, very much. That's why I had to save him, that's why I didn't stay in Lothlorien. I went after him, even if it was too late, because I knew I had to try to save him. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself otherwise."

She leaned forward, her voice now barely more than a whisper.

"That's why I'm here. Because your son loves you, and I love him. I need you to wake up because he needs you to wake up. So wake up, Denethor. Wake up for Boromir. Please… just wake up."

Nothing happened. Not a twitch, not a flutter. Denethor slept on. Mel sat back and sighed.

"Yeah, I know. Who cares what I say? I'm nobody. Why would you listen to me?"

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was getting a headache. There was nothing she could do. She just had to wait until…

"Why are you here?"

Mel's eyes flew open. Denethor was staring back at her, his gray eyes as hard and cold as ice. He repeated his question.

"Why are you here?"

Mel's mouth opened and closed a few times before she could make words come out.

"I… I just… I was waiting for you to wake up."

"Where are my sons?" he asked, his eyes flitting around the room, his voice rising irritably, "Why do they not wait on their father?"

Pippin jerked and nearly slipped out of his chair. He rubbed his eyes, saw the Steward's eyes open, and his face lit up.

"My Lord Denethor!" the little hobbit exclaimed, jumping to his feet, "You're awake! We have to get Gandalf!"

Denethor turned his stony gaze on the little hobbit and Mel watched Pippin wither a little under the unexpected hostility. A hot coal of resentment start to burn in her chest.

"Why is the Steward of Gondor left in the care of a stranger and a simpleton? Where are my _sons?_ "

"Preparing for the siege," Mel answered, trying not to snap, "How do you feel?"

He turned his cold glare back on her.

"I will recover, no thanks to you."

The weight of his words hit Mel squarely in the gut, but she held her head high, her own anger smoldering inside her.

"By staying at my bedside do you hope to absolve yourself of responsibility for your meddling?" The Steward sneered, each word needling her with tiny pinpricks of cold, "Had it not been for you, the Enemy's plans would now be clear to us. Any lives lost on that account are on your hands."

Mel stood so abruptly the legs of her chair clattered against the stone.

"And had it not been for your meddling, my lord, the Enemy would know less of our own plans. Any lives lost on _that_ account are on your hands."

Denethor was still glaring at her stubbornly. Pippin was staring at her. She needed to leave. If she didn't she was going to do something stupid. She tore her eyes from Denethor and looked at Pippin, trying not to let any of her anger bleed onto him.

"Pippin, go and fetch the healers. I'm sure they'll wish to know that their lord is recovering."

It took a few seconds for Pip to recover himself and scurry out the door. Mel gave the Steward one last contemptuous glance before she turned away.

"I'll let your sons know you're awake, Lord Denethor," she called over her shoulder as she stalked away.

There was no reply.

Once she was out of the room, Mel's whole body started to tremble. She clenched her fists and forced her feet to keep moving down the corridor. She couldn't lose it now. There was too much to do. She marched past the healers without a word, ignoring their questioning glances. If she tried to talk to them now, she wasn't sure what would come out. When she got outside the Houses of Healing, she grabbed a man in uniform passing by and asked where she might find the Steward's sons. Boromir was still preparing the defenses at the gates, but Faramir was in the Citadel overseeing the distribution of arms and supplies. Mel quickly decided it would be easier to find Faramir herself, so she sent the soldier to the wall after Boromir, and then headed toward the Citadel.

She hurried through the streets and passages, hoping that if she just kept moving she could leave the Steward's words and her own nagging doubts behind. What if Denethor was right? What if she had…? But she couldn't think about that now. There was too much to do. She had to keep moving.

She found her way to the store rooms and there found Faramir. One glance at her and the sword he had been inspecting clattered to the floor. He nearly ran to her, gripping her arm with a look of alarm.

"Father?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

Mel shook her head.

"He's fine," she said, trying not to let her voice bite, "He's awake and asking for you."

"Boromir?"

"I sent someone for him. He'll meet you there."

The terror on Faramir's face relaxed into relief and his grip on her shoulder loosened slightly.

"By the stars Mel, you looked so pale, I feared… You could have sent someone for me."

Mel shook her head and rubbed her temple absently.

"No, no I needed the walk."

Faramir's expression melted into one of sympathetic understanding. He squeezed her arm gently.

"Mel, whatever he said you mustn't take it personally. My father does not like being made to feel helpless or incapable. He often takes out his frustrations on those closest to him."

Mel nodded, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She knew she shouldn't take it personally, she knew the Steward's personality, that this was one of many flaws, but his words had cut her deeply and echoed so closely what she had been feeling. She started to tremble again and dug her fingernails into her palms.

"You should go, Faramir," she said, "You wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Faramir sighed and touched her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his.

"Get some sleep, Mel. The last few days have not been kind to you. And the coming days look to be no more kind."

Mel forced a smile onto her face. Faramir did not look completely convinced, but he said nothing, only squeezed her shoulder one final time and then hurried past her. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. It probably wouldn't hurt to take his advice. She did still feel incredibly tired.

By the time she made her way back to her own room, she was well and truly exhausted. She might not have even seen Loriel's note had it not been for the pile of clothes lying with it on her bed, more shirts and trousers tailored to fit her. The note didn't say much, only that Loriel had heard about what happened and hoped everything was well. She would see her at lunchtime. Mel set the folded clothes on the floor before crawling into bed, not even bothering to change out of the black dress she was still wearing.

But once she was curled up and really settled, all the feelings that she had been trying to escape overwhelmed her. What was she doing? So much had happened since she'd picked up that ring in the woods on her way home from work. Whole sections of the story she had once loved and known so well were almost unrecognizable. Because of her. Her choices had changed the way the story was told, in ways she could never have possibly imagined. That was why Denethor's words had struck so hard.

_Any lives lost are on your hands_ _…_

Lives would be lost because of what she had done. At least one, a nameless, faceless person. His life would end because she would be forced to make yet another choice. Who would it be? Would it be someone she had never met? Someone she had seen only in passing? Or would it be someone she knew? Could she live with herself if it came to that? It was easy to say that she would do anything to keep Boromir safe, but when faced with the choice between his life and the life of another, would she be able to do what needed doing?

And what was it all for anyway? What was she sacrificing someone's life _for_? All this meddling and messing with history, to save the life of a man who could never possibly love her as much as she loved him. He might care about her, but _love_ her? They came from completely different worlds. And despite that, she loved him so much that she would sacrifice another person's life to keep him safe in a world he wasn't even supposed to exist in. And he would never know. He would never know how much she loved him.

Why had Yavanna done this? If she had been brought here just a few weeks, a few days, maybe even a few _hours_ later, she might never have even met Boromir. She would never have known how kind and strong and wonderful he really was. She might never have loved him. None of this would have happened. There wouldn't be this uncertainty, this lingering doubt. She wouldn't have to feel like everything that was about to happen was her fault.

_Any lives lost are on your hands_ _…_

Mel curled herself up tighter and buried her face in her pillow. She cried for all of the people who would die in this war, for the sacrifice she would have to make for foolish love, for her own broken heart. She cried until she finally fell asleep.

* * *

When she woke again, the little bit of light that still filtered through the darkness of Mordor had almost faded away completely. She rolled out of bed and was just trying to pull her hopelessly rumpled dress straight when there was a soft knock and Loriel poked her head through the door, looking slightly startled to see Mel sitting up.

"Oh Mel, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you…"

Mel waved away her apologies.

"It's alright, I can't keep sleeping like this. I guess I missed supper again?"

Loriel nodded as she slipped inside and set a tray on the end of the bed.

"I thought you might be hungry. I wasn't sure when last you had eaten."

Mel could smell the familiar aroma of stew and fresh bread. Her stomach gurgled as she lifted the tray lid and pulled the food toward her.

"I haven't eaten since breakfast. Thank you, for thinking of me."

"It was no trouble. I've thought of you often the past two days."

Loriel hesitated for a moment, then finally perched herself on the bed as if unable to contain herself any longer.

"Oh Mel, I saw it," she whispered, as if the very mention might unmake it, "I went down and I saw the gates!"

Mel smiled as she swallowed a mouthful of stew.

"Oh yeah? What did you think?"

"It was one of the most magnificent things I have ever seen," Loriel said, her eyes sparkling, "I cannot imagine the kind of power it must have taken."

Mel shrugged.

"Well, since I was out all day and most of the night, I'd say it must have been a fair bit."

She grinned, but Loriel's enthusiasm had ebbed into furrowed concern.

"Last night…" the girl began, but then stopped as if unable to complete her thought.

Mel waited for a beat before she prodded her.

"What, Loriel? It's okay, you can ask me anything."

The girl still seemed to hesitate, but finally she leaned forward as if she were afraid someone might hear.

"It's just that… rumors have been whispered in the city. About the Steward and what happened to him. They say horrible things, things I know can't possibly be true…"

She hesitated again, now looking down at her hands twisting in her lap. Mel wasted no time prodding her now.

"What things?"

The maid's eyes darted to the door and Mel grabbed her arm.

"Loriel, tell me. What things are they saying?"

The girl's eyes snapped back to Mel, wide and frightened.

"It isn't everyone, only a few. But they say…" she closed her eyes and took a breath, "They say that you were there too soon. That you might have… That you might have tried to assassinate the Steward."

Mel's hand went slack on her arm. Loriel frantically grabbed for Mel's hand before it fell away.

"Oh Mel, I know it isn't true, I know it! You've been nothing but kind, ever since you arrived, I know you couldn't have meant him any harm! But no one knows what happened. No one will ask and no one will say. Oh Mel, what _happened_ to Lord Denethor in that tower?"

Mel didn't know what to think. Her body and her mind felt numb. They thought she hurt Denethor on purpose. They thought it was her. Because of the numbness of her mind and emotions, she was able to see how that might make sense. After all, she was an outsider, the one who didn't belong. And they knew she had power now. No one trusted anyone with the kind of power she had, no matter how reluctantly she held it.

But… They thought she tried to _kill_ him! _Her_! Little nobody, Melody Bernston, suspected assassin! The idea might have been funny if it weren't so horrifying. She felt a lump of fear form in her throat, but she swallowed and forced it away. It was ridiculous and anyone with any sense would know it. Loriel didn't believe it and the girl barely knew her. She took a deep breath and smiled at Loriel.

"You're right. I didn't hurt Lord Denethor," she said and Loriel's tense expression relaxed a little, "I was just in the right place at the right time. I woke up in the night and went for a walk. I ended up at the Tower of Ecthelion and I found Denethor there. Then I went for help."

There. She hadn't lied. She might not have told Loriel everything, but at least she'd told her the truth. Loriel smiled at her, all traces of anxiety gone.

"I knew it. I knew you couldn't have had anything to do with it. That's what I kept telling the others," She squeezed Mel's hand, "You have too much good in you."

Mel smiled and picked up an apple, rolling it in her hand before she answered.

"I don't know about all that. I have just as much good in me as the next person, I guess."

Loriel patted her hand.

"You underestimate yourself far too often, Mel."

The little maid stood and straightened her dress.

"Well, I suppose I should leave you to your dinner."

A thought suddenly popped into Mel's head and she grabbed the maid's hand before she turned away.

"Loriel, the battle starts tomorrow. Where will you go?"

"I will be assisting in the Houses of Healing," Loriel said decisively, "Where will you be, Mel?"

Mel opened her mouth, then closed it again. The truth was she didn't exactly know. She knew that she would be wherever Boromir was, but she didn't know where specifically. She took an educated guess.

"On the wall."

Loriel nodded gravely.

"I thought as much. In that case, I pray I have no cause to see you until the battle is finished."

The maid hesitated, then leaned down and planted a kiss on Mel's forehead.

"Take care, my lady."

Mel smiled and squeezed Loriel's hand.

"You too, Loriel."

The maid returned her smile, but Mel saw the anxiety still lingering in her expression before she turned and slipped out of the room.

Mel ate the rest of her meal quietly. She didn't like upsetting Loriel, but there was no way to help it. She had to stick with Boromir. She didn't know what was going to happen tomorrow and she couldn't risk leaving him out there by himself. She still had a choice to make and she wanted to be there when the time came to make it. The truth was, she was still holding on to a sliver of hope, that there might be some way to weasel her way out of it, that she might find some loophole in Mandos' deal. There had to be a way.

She put her empty dishes back on the tray and set the tray by the door. She washed her face and then changed out of the rumpled dress into a set of new shirt and trousers. She didn't think she would be wearing any more of those beautiful dresses for a while. She let her hands brush over the fine fabrics briefly before she shut the wardrobe.

She decided to take a walk in the garden outside her room, trying to calm her nerves. It was dark now, but the air was unseasonably warm and there was still a faint glow on the eastern horizon. Mel tried not the think about what was lurking out there as she stepped out onto the soft grass, wiggling her bare toes. She walked to the far western edge of the garden and leaned on the low wall, staring out over Minas Tirith. Most of the city was dark, but she could see a few pinpricks of light twinkling here and there, hear the clatter and chatter of soldiers echoing on the stones. She closed her eyes and the voices of the city's trees swelled up in her mind, murmuring to one another, some talking about the battle coming, some remembering battles past, some recalling times when peace had reigned and the city had been full and lively. The soft voices were soothing and her mind settled into them with a heavy sigh.

"You should be resting."

Mel jumped and her eyes opened. Boromir was standing beside her, but his eyes faced east toward the wicked glow of Mordor. He was the one that looked like he needed rest. Though he stood straight and tall, his face was lined with worry. Mel straightened up and shrugged.

"I think I've gotten all the rest I'm going to for a while."

Boromir nodded, but his eyes still studied the eastern horizon.

"Mordor is restless this night," he murmured, "Sauron knows the battle begins in the morning."

Mel finally forced herself to glance that way. The fire in the east made a knot form in her stomach.

"He doesn't know everything, Boromir. He thinks he does, but he really doesn't."

Boromir's shoulders stiffened.

"No thanks to my father, you mean."

Mel jerked back, startled by the chill in his voice.

"No! No, that's not…"

But he had already relaxed and waved away her protests.

"No, it's true. What Father did was reckless with so much at stake. He has been using the palantir too long, he has forgotten its risks. And he is a proud man, unable to see when he has reached his own limits."

He turned and finally met Mel's eyes.

"It is not your fault, Melody. No matter what he said to you, you are not to blame for this or _anything_ that happens in the coming days."

Mel bit her lip and turned away so he couldn't see her, looking back down into the city, leaning on the low wall with what she hoped was a casual air, even though his words had shot straight through to her soul.

"No, of course it isn't. Why would I think that?"

"Melody," Boromir's voice was chiding, but gentle, "I know some of what he said to you, and I know that it upset you. Why do you think I came?"

She felt his fingertips brush through her hair and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to keep from shuddering. How was it possible that he still made her feel so strongly? Why did he have to make it so hard to remember that he could never love her?

When she felt in control again, she opened her eyes and turned back to him. He had that furrow between his brows and that look of something _more_ that she couldn't place in his expression. She swallowed and tried not to look like he was tying her insides into knots.

"It's okay, Boromir," she said, "I know it isn't my fault. I was just tired, so it rubbed me the wrong way."

He didn't look terribly convinced, but he inclined his head to concede the point. He glanced back out over the city, at the lights that were winking in and out below.

"They will come in the morning. Scouts have already spotted the foremost battalions crossing the Pelennor and all entrances to the city have been sealed."

His eyes flicked to her, then away.

"I would like for you to remain in the Citadel tomorrow. It will be the safest place."

Mel stared at him. He was purposely avoiding her gaze now, but ignoring her wasn't gonna work, surely he knew that. She rolled her eyes.

"Sorry, I can't do that. I'll be with you."

Boromir's whole body sagged and he rubbed his eyes, like they had been having this same argument forever. Mel supposed that was kind of true.

"Melody, there is no need to put yourself in any unnecessary danger. You have done everything in your power to protect us..."

"To protect the _city_ ," Mel corrected, "Not you. Now I have to protect you."

"I really think there is very little you can..."

"Boromir, really, when are you gonna learn not to argue with me about this? It never works out in your favor."

"This is a different situation."

"Actually, it's really not," Mel said, standing up straight and facing him, arms crossed stubbornly, "I am sticking to your side like glue tomorrow. If you make me hunt you down I will, but I'm not leaving you."

Boromir's eyes flashed and he tossed one of his hands in the air, running the other through his hair in frustration as he paced two steps away and then back again.

"Stubborn woman! I don't understand why you must be so difficult! What must I do?"

Then, so quickly Mel barely had time to register it was happening, Boromir took her face in his hands and kissed her.

For a tiny microsecond Mel was so shocked she didn't know what to do. Then every thought, every argument, every doubt in her head evaporated and she kissed him back, grabbing his tunic to keep her legs from slipping out from under her. The first few seconds were full of frustration, as if he were still hellbent on proving his point. But somewhere along the way the point seemed to be forgotten and he kissed her softly, carding his hands through her hair, lightly brushing his fingertips across her cheek, down her neck, against her collarbone, every touch sending shivers down her spine.

When they broke apart, Mel couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. She wasn't sure she could move. She just stared up into those gray eyes that had lost any trace of anger and now held only tenderness. Boromir smiled and brushed her cheek with his thumb.

"Melody," he whispered, and his voice sent another shudder rippling through her, "Now do you understand? How can I risk one I love so much?"

It took a moment for his words to sink in through the haze Mel was floating in. He… loved her? Her heart was pounding in her ears. Was she dreaming? She had been telling herself for so long that it wasn't possible… now that she had heard the words spoken out loud she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Love… He loved her. He _loved_ her! She felt light-headed and giddy. It took a second or two to make her brain circle back to the conversation, and a couple more seconds to put together a coherent response.

"Don't you think I feel exactly the same way?" she asked, stepping back so she could catch her breath and look him more firmly in the eye, "How do you think I would feel if something happened to you and I wasn't there? Do you think it would be any easier for me? I love you too, you know-" God, it felt _so good_ to say those words, "-and we've been taking care of each other for a long time now. I don't see any reason to quit. You watch my back, I'll watch yours. Deal?"

She stuck out her hand. Boromir looked down at her outstretched hand, raising an eyebrow. But when she didn't flinch or falter, he finally sighed and took her hand in his.

"Agreed," he said grudgingly, but his eyes were twinkling.

Mel had only a fraction of a second to feel smug. With a quick tug, Boromir used her hand to pull her close again and growled, "Stubborn woman…" before he kissed her and Mel forgot what they were talking about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sits back with a smug expression and waits for the reviews*
> 
> :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings all! Fair warning, there is a little bit of Sindarin at the end of the chapter, there is hover-text embedded as well as translations in a note at the bottom :) Enjoy!

Mel's head was spinning. An hour ago she and Boromir had been kissing in a garden overlooking the city, and she had never been happier. Now she was standing in an armory, watching Boromir dig through various bits of metal, and she was terrified. The ringing of metal on stone reverberated across the stone as one by one different pieces were inspected and tossed aside. Each clang made Mel wince.

Boromir's face was grim and decisive. He still was not happy with her decision, but he had conceded the argument, which Mel was grateful for. However he had insisted that he be the one to assign armor to her, and he had insisted that they do it now. Not wanting to start a new argument, and still feeling a bit light-headed from the realization of his feelings for her, she had agreed.

Now she was thinking that might have been a bad decision. An hour later and Boromir still seemed no closer to finding anything he was satisfied with. His methodical search had been silent except for the clang of metal as he tossed helmets, breastplates, and various other things aside, things Mel couldn't begin to identify. She had been watching from the doorway, reluctant to break the heavy silence that had fallen between them, but she was starting to get worried. She had been sleeping all day. Boromir had been up and working. He needed sleep.

He pulled out another helmet and turned it over in his hands, his eyes taking in details that Mel was sure only he could see. He seemed to hold this one a little longer than the others, and Mel held her breath. He glanced at her, but he wasn't really seeing her. He was seeing something else, assessing. Then he set the helmet aside, not tossing it like the others, and continued his search. Before too long, the helmet was joined by a pile of metal pieces larger than Mel thought was strictly necessary, but she didn't dare say anything. It looked as if they might be making progress and she didn't want to ruin it. Finally, Boromir stood up and surveyed his collection before giving her another calculating look that didn't really see her. He nodded.

"This will do."

He picked up a shirt of chain mail and went to work. One by one the bits of metal were strapped onto various bits of Mel. The chain mail wasn't so bad, but the rest of it… As each new piece went on, Mel felt as if the life was being squeezed out of her. Pressure started to build up in her chest. She couldn't breathe. She resisted the urge to start gasping for air, instead trying to take controlled breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth, slow and steady. But each new piece of armor felt like just another weight thrown onto her chest. She started to feel dizzy. She thought she might be sick.

Finally, Boromir placed the helmet on her head and as the cold metal touched her face, something inside of Mel snapped and she lost it. The helmet was off her head and hit the wall across the room with a ringing clatter before she even knew what she was doing. Boromir took a step back, eyes wide.

"Melody, what…?"

"I can't," she gasped, "I can't do… I can't be… Get it off me!"

Her fingers were scrambling at straps, tossing armor aside, desperately fighting the metal shell that was keeping her from the air. Boromir tried to grab hold of her hands.

"Melody! Melody, stop!"

But she struggled, jerking out of his grip and stumbling back into the corridor. She hit her knees, still pulling bits of armor off and letting it fall all around her until she was on her back in a drift of metal pieces, with nothing but the chain mail left on her shoulders. Only then did she feel like she could breathe again. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths of the stuffy night air, letting the cool of the stone floor seep into her as she regained control of herself again.

She heard the scrape of metal on stone close by, but didn't open her eyes. She didn't want to look Boromir in the face right now. He had to be so disappointed in her. She was disappointed in herself. She had been through far worse things and survived. But she could not _imagine_ being forced back into that metal suit again. It was just… too much. Boromir sighed heavily beside her, and she had to resist the urge to turn away and curl up like a child. She still didn't open her eyes.

"I am sorry, Melody."

His voice was so genuine and gentle, that Mel's eyes opened almost involuntarily. He was sitting next to her amongst the scattered armor, arms hooked around his knees, but he wasn't looking at her. He was staring down at a spot on the ground, a crease of worry furrowing his brow.

"You aren't a soldier," he said, "I shouldn't expect you to act like one. You've never worn a soldier's armor, or fought in a war. Sometimes, it is difficult for me to remember that you are different from us."

He looked down at her and a small smile touched the corners of his lips.

"You have the same heart, but your body and your mind don't always conform to your warrior's spirit."

Mel sighed and pushed up onto her elbows.

"I know you want me to be safe, Boromir…" she said, but he cut her off.

"You cannot be safe if you do not _feel_ safe. Your mind must be clear of all other concerns when you are in battle, and if the armor makes you uncomfortable, then you shouldn't wear it. Soldiers train for months to wear what I placed on you. I should not have expected you to achieve the same comfort as they."

Mel sat upright and wrapped her arms around her knees. The chain mail she was wearing clinked and Boromir glanced at it.

"You appear comfortable enough in the mail."

She followed his gaze and shrugged. The shirt fit alright, and it wasn't too heavy.

"It's not too bad."

"Then that shall be your armor," Boromir said, decisively, "It is better than nothing at all."

He stood up and pulled Mel to her feet, brushing her cheek with his fingertips before he leaned down and kissed her softly. Mel's head still spun with giddy happiness when their lips touched, and as they pulled apart Boromir sighed.

"Why now, Melody?" he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers, "Why did you come to me in this time of war? There were happier times, nearly peaceful. We could have been happy, without this cloud of worry and doubt hanging over us."

She smiled and leaned back so she could look him in the eye, brushing a lock of hair back from his face.

"It won't last forever, Boromir," she whispered, "I promise."

He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, but she forced her hand away.

"You should sleep while you can," she said, "You look exhausted."

He nodded.

"I am weary," he admitted, taking her hands in his and pressing them to his chest, "But I have lost so much time with you."

She smiled, her heart pounding so hard she thought she might crack a rib.

"Then we'll have to make up for it later," she said, a bit of her giddiness leaking into her voice, "But you _need_ to sleep. You're no good to anyone this tired."

He sighed, but nodded.

"What will you do until the morning?"

Mel shrugged.

"I guess go back to my room and try to sleep too. I don't think anyone will be getting much of that in the next few days."

They left the armory and walked back to the Citadel together, Mel's arm wrapped in Boromir's. It was a position that was familiar to her, but she felt closer to him now, less uneasy, which made her smile to herself. He left her at her door, with a soft good night and another kiss that made her feel as light as air. When he finally turned away, Mel watched him until he turned out of sight. Then she let herself into her own room, lay down on her bed completely clothed, and stared up into space for a while. She wasn't tired. At all. Her mind and heart were still racing. She tried closing her eyes to see if sleep would come. But it didn't and after an excruciating amount of time, she gave up and swung out of bed. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't sit still. She opened her door and peeked around. No one was out. Everything was still and silent. She shut the door softly behind her and padded down the hall.

She wandered out of the living quarters and out into the Citadel, until she once again stood in the courtyard of the White Tree. It seemed as if she always found herself here. She stopped, giving the tree a moment of respect before moving on. One of the Guardians nodded to her as she passed and she recognized him dimly from the night before. She nodded in return, but didn't disturb his watch. She climbed the steps and entered the throne room.

This time, she actually took the time to look at the statues of the Kings that lined the walls of the long room. None of them seemed familiar to her, but some had certain things carved into their statues that made her wonder about their stories. A few seemed to have been carved as if they were riding a great ocean wave. One was stepping on a cat lying dead at his feet. Another was an old man, but his crown and his robes seemed more glorious and rich than the others. She wished she could remember more about the origins of the kings of Gondor and the stories that surrounded them.

When she reached the end of the long line of statues, she paused for a moment before the two thrones, white towering over the black nestled at its base. She tried to imagine what that must be like, to sit every day at the foot of an empty throne, waiting for someone you are sure will never come. She thought she might understand a little of Denethor's resentment at the prospect of being tossed aside for some unknown Ranger. He had worked his whole life to keep Gondor safe, to rule justly and fairly as best he could. It was all he knew. What would become of him when Aragorn finally laid claim to that white throne? Mel had trouble believing that Denethor would just sit quietly at his feet. What would happen to Gondor if the two rulers couldn't get along?

Mel left the thrones behind and slipped out the back door, through the covered walkway until she reached the smooth white surface of the Tower of Ecthelion. The darkened archway didn't frighten her now. Gandalf had taken the palantir and put it somewhere safe. Now this was just a tower, nothing more. She climbed the steps and pushed into the round room at the top. It felt empty and purposeless now. The pedestal in the center was bare and out of place. The curved white walls were stark. She ran her hands along the smooth stone as she walked the perimeter of the room, and finally stepped out onto the small balcony, leaning on the stone banister facing east.

There were still lights twinkling in the city below. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. The first level though was dark and deserted. Not a single light shone there. She remembered that she had been meaning to close up the gate to the second level as well, but it didn't seem likely that would happen now. She could only hope that what she had done would be enough, buy enough time for the Rohirrim and Aragorn to reach them. She hoped she had at least done _something_ worthwhile.

"The city holds its breath."

Mel glanced up. Gandalf had materialized beside her, his pipe in his hand, wreathed in a thin veil of smoke. Somehow, she wasn't all that surprised to see him. She turned back to the city.

"Couldn't sleep either, I take it?"

He didn't answer. She hadn't really expected him to. The smell of smoldering tobacco filled her nose as the wizard took a long, thoughtful drag on his pipe.

"Melody Calenhiril, Minas Tirith owes you quite a debt," he said finally.

Mel glanced back at him, puzzled.

"They don't owe me anything."

A smile twitched his lips.

"You've given the trees a chance to protect their city and brought their favorite son safely back to them. I think there are few who would say they did _not_ owe you a debt."

Mel dropped her eyes and picked absently at a crack in the stone.

"You know I didn't do those things for them," she muttered, "Well, maybe the tree thing, but…"

"No, Boromir was a selfish act," Gandalf said, but he said it kindly, without judgment, "That is true. But it was done out of love, and that cannot be ignored. Not by anyone."

He gave her a pointed look and once again Mel felt sure that he knew everything, everything about her choice and what she had been thinking and what was about to happen.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears choking her voice because it hurt to say it, "I'm sorry, but I can't let him die. I can't."

Gandalf's mouth turned down and he reached out to grasp her arm gently.

"I know," he said sadly, "I know. But do not despair, Mel."

He seemed to consider his next words very carefully.

"Do you know of Beren and Luthien?"

Mel shrugged.

"Only a little. Luthien was an elf and Beren was a mortal. They fell in love, and then they died."

Gandalf nodded, as if he had been expecting this answer.

"Then you do not know the whole tale," He smiled at her, "Not all stories must have unhappy endings, Mel. Even ones that end in death."

Mel stared at him, waiting to see if the wizard would say any more, feeling more confused than ever. But Gandalf only patted her arm fondly, and then took another puff on his pipe.

"I suppose I shall see you on the walls of battle tomorrow," he said.

Mel nodded.

"I have to be there."

Gandalf didn't say anything to that, only blew another perfectly formed smoke ring into the dark night. After another moment of silence he straightened abruptly, emptied his pipe, and turned to her.

"Then I shall wish you a good night, Melody Calenhiril, until tomorrow."

He turned and swept out of the tower, leaving Mel feeling as if she had just missed something incredibly important, but could not think what it might be. Clearly the wizard had been trying to tell her something, trying to help her in some way. She just wished he would come out and say it! Why did he have to be so damn cryptic all the time?

She huffed and flung herself back against the balcony wall, staring out over the quiet city with a nagging sense of foreboding in the pit of her stomach, waiting for dawn to come.

* * *

The air was still on the Anduin. The fleet of ships barely seemed to move, their black sails hardly fluttering in the night. But move they did, slipping ever onward on the river's currents, closer and closer to Minas Tirith. Legolas stood in the bow of the foremost ship, glaring into the dark. He had felt ill at ease for days now. The coming battle did not trouble him so very much. They fought in a war they could not hope to win without the destruction of the Enemy that roused the invading armies. He knew it was unlikely any of their number would survive. These things he had always known, since they had set out from Rivendell what felt like a lifetime ago. So why now did his heart feel so restless?

"Suil, Legolas Thranduilion! How fares the night?"

Legolas glanced behind him and saw one of Lord Elrond's sons approaching. The twins, Elladan and Elrohir, had joined them five days earlier, bringing with them a band of Rangers from the North. This looked to be Elrohir who joined him. Legolas cast his eyes back over the darkened river and the shadowed lands beyond.

"The air is still and the night is dark. But nothing threatens."

"Yet I sense an uneasy spirit in you," Elrohir said, standing beside him and casting his own eyes into the darkness, "What troubles you, if not the coming battle or threatening forces?"

"I am… unsure," Legolas confessed, "My heart seems far from this place."

Elrohir nodded.

"Perhaps that which troubles my own mind also troubles yours. The safety of another more dear to you than yourself."

Legolas nodded, though only now was it clear to him. Mel. He was thinking of her, even when he did not mean to. He feared for her. They'd received word that she and Boromir had passed a night in Edoras before continuing on the road to Minas Tirith. But that had been the last they'd heard of them. No news had come out of Gondor heralding the return of the Steward's eldest son. No news had come out of Gondor of anything. War made it difficult for word to pass through the lands. So Legolas was left with only his own fears and speculations.

"It is difficult," Elrohir said, "In these dark days, difficult and even dangerous to love. But love we must, for love is what keeps us fighting. Love keeps our hope alive. But it can be painful."

He clasped Legolas' shoulder.

"I too live in hope of seeing her again, Legolas. Too often have I worried for her safety in the dark days since you embarked on your quest, too often questioned mine and my brother's wisdom in defying our father's wishes. To send her into such danger, someone I would consider a dear friend… It was perhaps one of the most difficult things I have ever done."

He stared out into the night and smiled, as if at a long ago memory.

"But Mel follows a path all her own," he said, his voice floating gently in the warm air, "With or without our help she would have gone her own way. Knowing this has eased my soul somewhat. And she is not alone. She is among friends, those we trust who would never allow harm to come to her."

Legolas looked out across the black water and felt a blackness tinge his heart.

"I have seen things, Elrohir," he said, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice, "Things that cause me to doubt… to question…"

Elrohir tilted his head, puzzled and Legolas pressed his lips together firmly to prevent any more of his thoughts from escaping. No word had been said of Boromir's betrayal. Only those in the Fellowship knew of it. Legolas himself had agreed that this was best. Boromir was no longer the man he had been in Lothlorien. He had been changed, redeemed. Hadn't he? The longer Legolas went without news of Mel, the more he began to doubt. How much of Boromir's behavior had been the Enemy's influence… and how much from his own heart?

… _let the elf care for you, but I will not…_

Legolas blinked the words away. There was no reason to poison the heart of another with his doubt. He could see the wisdom in that. So he simply looked at Elrohir and smiled.

"Goheno nin, Elrohir. The darkness of the night has given rise to dark thoughts in my heart."

Elrohir glanced back toward the horizon.

"The dark is always deepest before the dawn," he said, "Perhaps the day will lighten both our troubled hearts."

He squeezed the hand still clasping Legolas' shoulder.

"Have faith, Legolas. I sense a special touch on Mel. She will be waiting for us at the gates of Minas Tirith."

Legolas nodded and Elrohir left him to his thoughts. But as he turned his watchful eyes back to the murky blackness, he wished more than anything that he had not left her behind all those weeks ago.

"Telin, mellon-nîn," he whispered softly to the night winds, "I am coming now. And I will not leave your side again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations:**  
>  _(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)_  
> 
> Suil- Greetings!  
> Goheno nin- forgive me  
> Telin- I am coming  
> Mellon-nîn - my friend


	14. Chapter 14

Mel watched from the Tower of Ecthelion as the glow in the east began to brighten. No sunlight would touch Minas Tirith today. The darkness of Mordor covered the whole of Gondor now, from the river Anduin to the city gates. But because she was still in the Tower as the light grew from dark to dim, she was probably the first to see it. At first glance it could have been a shadow, rolling over the plains, but with no sun or break in the clouds what could cast it? And it crawled so steadily toward the city, rippling like a wave of black ooze, blanketing the land. That was when Mel realized what she was seeing. Sauron's army was marching. The siege had already begun.

Mel ran out of the tower and across the Citadel as fast as she could. She had to get Boromir. She had to be with him. But even as she sprinted toward the door leading to the living quarters, it slammed open and Boromir appeared, already clad in Gondorian armor. He caught her in his arms before she could slow her momentum.

"Melody, where have you been?" he asked as he set her back on her feet, worry clear in his voice.

"No time, they're here, they're coming," she gasped, "I saw them, the army, they're coming, I could see them, they're almost here."

"I know, I _know_ , one of the watch woke me," Boromir soothed her, brushing her hair from her face, "When you weren't in your room I thought you might be… doing something foolish."

A bubble of laughter escaped her in a huff.

"Me? Do something foolish? Never!"

Now that she was with Boromir and he seemed calm, she felt much calmer, even though adrenaline was still coursing through her, making her heart pound with excitement.

Boromir rolled his eyes and took her hand.

"Come, there are things we must see to."

Mel followed him through the Citadel as he relayed orders to soldiers that he passed, sending some to rouse the city and sound the alarms, others to their posts along the walls of the lower levels. When they reached the stables horses were already saddled and waiting for them, along with a fully armored Faramir. The brothers clasped hands.

"I see you could not keep her hidden away, Boromir," Faramir said, grinning at Mel and saluting her with a hand over his heart, "Our very own Sword-Maiden of Gondor. Our city is honored by your bravery, Lady Melody of Rivendell, Keeper of the Trees."

Mel tried to return his salute, even though it felt awkward to her. It seemed to please Faramir though.

"I hope, brother," Faramir said sharply, giving his brother a very deliberate look, "That you have left nothing unsaid that you would later regret?"

Boromir smiled at Mel and took her hand, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles, "You've nothing to fear on that account, Faramir. My mind has been spoken."

Mel blushed, but Faramir's face looked like it might split in half with the force of his grin.

"Ha! Well then, to battle with all of us! And may we live to hear our children's children tell about it!"

All three mounted and rode down to the Great Gate, the brothers calling out orders and encouragement to the soldiers as they passed. Many cheered or saluted as they rode by. When they reached the gate, Mel was surprised that every single lord of Gondor seemed to have beaten them there. She wouldn't have thought word would travel that fast. They dismounted and climbed the stairs, Boromir and Faramir clasping hands with all of the lords and muttering greetings. Mel tried to hang back out of the way, but one of the lords sought her out.

"Well met, Melody of Rivendell," Lord Hirluin said, his blue eyes shining as he clasped her hand and bowed over it, "I admit, I was not sure whether to expect you here this day."

Mel wasn't sure what to say to that.

"I'm… just trying to do my part, Lord Hirluin," she stuttered, "I've got a sword like anybody else. Might as well get some use out of it."

His head quirked a bit to the side, but his smile widened good-naturedly.

"Indeed you do."

"What's this, then?"

Lord Forlong lumbered over, clad in the armor of Gondor with a battle ax slung over one shoulder. He looked like a much larger version of Gimli, which made Mel smile.

"Do you join us in glorious battle this morning, Lady Melody?" he asked jovially, clapping her firmly on the shoulder and grinning as if this were the best day of his life.

"It would seem so, Lord Forlong," she said, trying to keep her balance as he shook her shoulder enthusiastically.

"And a finer sword-maiden never graced these walls!" Lord Forlong said, winking at her from under his helmet.

Mel blushed.

"Oh, that's… that's not really true. There is one greater than I who will defend this city. She just hasn't arrived yet."

The two men exchanged a perplexed glance, but at that moment Boromir called out.

"Lord Forlong, Lord Hirluin!"

They turned toward his voice and Boromir gestured to both sides of the wall.

"I would like your men to be spread out along the outer walls, ready for the ladders. Tell any that are not archers to stay low until the ladders are raised, no need to lose men needlessly to arrow fire."

The lords bowed and hurried away. The other lords all seemed to have received orders as well and scattered to command their men. Mel took advantage of the brief moment of calm to cross to the gates and place her hands over the tendrils of branches crawling up and over the wall from the Sentries below.

_"We are ready, Calenhiril."_

They still spoke in unison, as if one entity. Mel supposed they were now. There was no way to tell where one tree ended and another began.

 _"I'm going to be right here with you the whole time,"_ she reassured them, even though it didn't sound as if they needed soothing.

The leaves rustled in a wave that went all the way to the ground.

_"We are not afraid."_

_"I know. But I am."_

"Melody?"

She turned toward Boromir's voice. His brow was furrowed slightly and Mel smiled, trying to allay his concern.

"It's fine. I was just checking in."

He nodded and his eyes flicked almost involuntarily over her shoulder. Mel followed his gaze and her heart jumped into her throat. The black wave rippled across the Pellenor Fields, a rhythmic boom echoing with every ridge of movement. She swallowed, trying to force her heart back down where it belonged. This was nothing like Moria. There was nowhere to run. They just had to stand here, waiting for that horrible blackness to finally reach them.

Boromir's hand slipped into hers.

"You can go back," he whispered, so low that only she would hear, "No one will stop you. No one will say…"

But she gripped his hand tightly to stop him.

"No," she said, "I can't go back."

She looked up at him with what she hoped was grim determination and not terror in her eyes.

"I can't go back."

Boromir paused, but then he nodded and turned away, his hand slipping out of hers. Mel stayed where she was, putting a hand on the wall to steady herself. One of the tender, green branches slid across the stone and twined itself gently through her fingers.

"I can't go back," she whispered.

Sudden movement on the field caught Mel's eye and she jerked her head back to the black mass slowly taking form before them. Something was flitting in the air above the army, swooping down and around like great black bird.

No. Not a bird. Mel knew without having to see it. The Witch-King of Angmar, the Lord of the Nazgul. She took a deep, steadying breath and reminded herself that he wasn't her problem. He would be someone else's problem soon enough. She just needed to keep herself together, that's all. Just keep it together.

She resolutely turned away from the approaching army and focused her attention on the wall. There was plenty of activity, men running back and forth, setting up positions, pulling what looked like large slings into place along the battlements. Faramir was walking up one side of the wall, Boromir down the other, inspecting, making sure everything was in order, giving encouragement where it seemed warranted.

Mel pulled free of the Sentries and headed toward Boromir, soldiers glancing up as she walked by. She was sure none of them had expected to see her there. She wondered how many believed the rumors about her trying to assassinate the Steward. She wondered how many thought she was a witch. Was there anyone at all who thought she might just be a normal person like everyone else? Probably not. Even she didn't really believe that anymore. She hadn't been normal for a long time. She wondered if any of these men weren't afraid of her.

She caught up to Boromir, who gave her a questioning look.

"Okay if I just follow you around?" she asked.

He searched her face, as if looking for some sort of ulterior motive, but then he nodded.

"Of course. Truthfully, I would prefer you stay close to me."

Mel thought that was quite a coincidence, since she preferred he stay close to her too, but did not say that out loud. They continued to walk the wall, Mel following in Boromir's wake and trying not to draw attention to herself. It didn't take long for her to notice how very careful the soldiers were _not_ to look at her when Boromir's eye was on them, but the second he turned his back she was always given a glance before they returned to their work. Most of these glances held little more than curiosity, but a few were openly suspicious, watching until she was well past before going back to their tasks. None seemed hostile, but she wondered if that was only because of her close proximity to their Captain.

The more suspicious looks reminded her of Vanion. She shuddered. Where was he? How many of these men were his friends? Had the assassination rumors been started by him? There was no way to know that for sure, but it sounded just like him. Mel felt a sharp sting of anger that she hadn't been able to kill him when she'd had the chance, but immediately regretted the thought. There was going to be enough death in the next few days without wishing for more.

They reached the end of the wall and had turned to head back toward the gate, when one of the men reached out and touched Mel's arm. She jumped and the young soldier jerked back, lowering his eyes apologetically.

"My lady, forgive me, but I must… You are the one so much has been spoken of? The woman who wields the sword of Rohan, who commands our trees to hold the gates? The one called Melody of Rivendell?"

Mel hesitated, and then straightened her shoulders resolutely.

"I am."

The young man stood up tall, his shoulders back, and placed his fist on his chest.

"My lady, I salute you," he said his voice ringing against the stones, "You have done us all a great service. I am honored to fight alongside you."

He bowed low. Mel stared at him. She… She had done almost _nothing_ , and he was so grateful. Her eyes stung, but she held back any hint of tears. She couldn't let these soldiers see her cry like a stupid girl. She managed to return the young man's bow at least without looking like too much of an idiot.

"Believe me," she said, trying not to let emotion choke her words, "The honor is mine, sir."

He nodded once, and then turned back to his work as if nothing had happened. Mel tore her eyes from his back and caught Boromir smiling at her. She caught up to him and leaned in so only he could hear her whisper.

"If you told him to say that, I swear to god, I'm going to throw you off this wall in front of all these men."

Boromir stared at her, looking genuinely astonished.

"Of course I didn't, Melody. Why do you think I would do that?"

"To try to make me feel better," she muttered.

Boromir brushed her hand with his fingertips.

"I would never deceive you, not even to ease your troubled mind. That man spoke from his own heart. He received no prompting from me."

Mel believed him. Besides, he would know better than to do something shady like that. It wasn't really in his nature.

"Okay."

But to Mel's surprise, this wasn't an isolated incident. As they walked back down the wall, others reached for Mel's hand or saluted her, murmuring thanks and saying how honored they were to serve with her. Mel was overwhelmed. Never in her life had she thought anything she could do would mean so much to so many people. It was humbling. She had done so little and these men were willing to sacrifice so much. There was nothing more she could do for them, but if there had been, if she had been holding _anything_ back she would have given it then, just to see them all safe.

Faramir was waiting for them at the Gate with Gandalf, the large, scruffy Lord Duinhir and Prince Imrahil. Mel had seen only a little of the prince since she had come here. Honestly, he was pretty awe-inspiring and when he gripped her hand in greeting Mel felt her mouth go dry.

"Well met, Melody of Rivendell," he said, his voice deep and commanding, "I had wondered if you would be joining us in battle this day."

"I could not get her to stay behind, Uncle, though I tried." Boromir said, grudgingly.

"No, of course you couldn't," Gandalf said, leaning on his staff, "It would take a greater man than you, Boromir of Gondor, to cause Mel to stray from her chosen path. I think perhaps no man exists so great as could accomplish that."

The wizard winked at Mel and she smiled back. She liked this new Gandalf. He seemed to understand her better. She was glad. She had never liked feeling at odds with him.

Gandalf's eyes strayed over her shoulder and Mel knew by the furrow of his brow that he was watching the army approaching.

"The enemy comes."

Everyone turned to follow his gaze. Everything was much closer now. Mel could hear the sounds of their stomping feet, the beating of the drums, the screeching of the wheels as the siege machines were rolled ever closer to the wall.

"They will attack the gate," Prince Imrahil said, "They will know that is our weakest point."

"They will attempt to distract us," Boromir said, his eyes sweeping the field, "They have the numbers. They will set up attacks along the wall to harry our forces. We will have to hold them back."

"Don't aim for the machines."

Mel's voice slipped out of her mouth almost by accident. Everyone turned to stare at her. She swallowed.

"Don't aim for the machines," she repeated, "Aim for the trolls. The trolls are what power the machines. If you can take them out, you'll stop the machines."

Gandalf nodded.

"That is wise advice, Mel."

Mel couldn't hide her grin.

"I know. It was yours."

The wizard raised an eyebrow. It took everything Mel had not to laugh. She wondered if all the fear and adrenaline was making her a little hysterical. She bit back another giggle.

Boromir turned to Lord Duinhir.

"Tell your sons, your archers are to aim for the trolls when possible. Take down the trolls."

Lord Duinhir bowed and ran down the wall to repeat the orders.

"Any other wise advice you would care to share with us, Melody?" Boromir asked, a hint of a smirk twitching his lips.

Mel glanced at Gandalf. He said nothing and his face remained neutral.

"Only this," she replied carefully, "When the black ships come, don't panic."

"Black ships?" Prince Imrahil asked, skepticism tinging his smooth tone.

"On the Anduin," Mel said, "You'll have to trust me on this. It just means it's almost over."

The prince looked like he might ask more, but Gandalf took that moment to pin him with a withering look. Prince Imrahil held the gaze for only a few moments before he bowed and turned away. Even a great Lord of Gondor has his limits.

Faramir smiled and clapped Mel on the shoulder.

"I think my brother might have underestimated your usefulness to us today, Mel," he said jovially.

Mel tried to return his smile, but a thought crystallized so suddenly and sharply that it nearly took her breath away.

_He shouldn't even be here. If something happens to him…_

… _any lives lost… are on your hands…_

Something must have shown on her face, because Faramir's expression turned grave in an instant.

"Mel, what is it?" he murmured, leaning toward her and glancing around them. They were alone now. Gandalf had pulled Boromir aside and they appeared to be discussing some sort of last minute strategy.

Mel shook her head to clear the remnants of the thought from her head.

"Nothing. Just… So much is different from what I knew before. I'm not really sure what's going to happen now."

Faramir's kind smile returned to his face and he squeezed her shoulder.

"Then you are no different than any of us."

He turned to join his brother and Gandalf, but his words resonated in Mel's head. For the first time, she was at a point in the story where the outcome should have been clear. She should _know_ what was about to happen, but she didn't. Not really. The story had been changed and she wasn't quite sure what would happen next.

She looked around her at the soldiers staring out onto the plains, waiting for the black army that would soon be upon them, wondering whether they would live to tell their children and grandchildren about this battle. How many would live that might have died? And how many would die that might have lived? What was the cost and what was the gain? Would it all even out in the end? Or would the ramifications of her actions continue to spread, upsetting the balance in ever widening ripples of chaos that she would eventually be forced to reconcile? Would Mandos hold those lives over her head as well?

… _have her choose another… a life for a life…_

She glanced up and caught Boromir watching her, his eyes concerned. Her heart melted and she smiled at him. He loved her. And she loved him. She didn't see how anything so beautiful could be a mistake.

One of the men called out to him and his eyes were pulled from hers, but that had been all Mel needed to bring her back. She might not know what was going to happen. And her actions might have changed how the story was told. But she knew, as she had always known, that she would not go back and change what she had done.

She turned toward the advancing army and, just like everyone else, she waited.


	15. Chapter 15

Why did it take so long to set up a freaking siege?

The army had arrived around noon and Mel had expected chaos to erupt immediately. But that hadn't happened. The army had stopped _just_ out of reach of the trebuchets (Mel had finally asked Boromir what those sling-things were called), and then decided to take what felt like the longest amount time in the history of any battle _ever_ to set up their catapults and siege machines. Mel's heart felt permanently lodged in her throat as she watched orcs scurry and trolls lumber, doing god-only-knew-what.

She fidgeted, she twitched, she even started pacing, but Boromir gave her a look that stopped that before it even really started. She stood next to him and tried, quite unsuccessfully, to be still until finally, Boromir took her hand and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"You're going to make the men nervous, Melody."

She swallowed.

"Sorry. It's just, this isn't what I thought was going to happen. Is there always this much waiting?"

A faint smile touched his lips.

"Not always. Do not be so anxious for the beginning, when soon you will long for the end."

Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I love you," he whispered.

Mel's breath caught. He had kissed her. In public! She was so jittery she almost forgot to respond.

"I love you too," she answered breathlessly, squeezing his hand.

His face lit up briefly before he slipped his hand from hers and took a walk along the wall, murmuring words of calm and encouragement to the soldiers he passed. Mel caught Faramir's eye. He was grinning like an idiot. Mel rolled her eyes. She was glad that he was about to find his own girl, otherwise she could see him becoming a lovably annoying, _nosy_ little brother.

"How does it fair, Melody Calenhiril?"

Mel jumped. Gandalf had materialized at her side, seemingly out of nowhere.

"God, I wish you wouldn't do that," she gasped, putting a hand over her heart to keep it from pounding out of her chest, "I'm enough of a wreck as it is."

Gandalf peered down at her and raised an eyebrow. Mel rolled her eyes.

"How do you even know that name?" she asked.

He raised the other eyebrow.

"Calenhiril," Mel clarified, "How do you know that name? Only the trees and… not many people call me that."

"Saruman knew it. Why would you believe me to have any less knowledge than he?"

Mel twitched at the mention of the former White Wizard, and a phantom ache jabbed at her ribs. Gandalf's face softened.

"I am sorry for what has happened to you, Mel," he said, "I think I understand better than I did before, and I am sorry. You should know that before we face death together."

Mel managed a small smile.

"Thank you, Gandalf. I know I haven't been easy on you. So thank you."

The Nazgul below let out a long, warbling screech and Mel's blood froze. The Enemy's army roared in answer. Loud creaks and rumbles followed as the siege machines finally started to move.

Boromir was suddenly on the wall beside her, Faramir at his side.

"Steady!" Boromir cried, "Steady, Men of Gondor! Face the enemy that has threatened your lands with courage and hope! Let this day be a day that our children sing songs about!"

Giant beasts pulled catapults closer to the walls, followed by trolls straining under the weight of the siege towers covered in metal plates. When they were just within range of the farthest archers, Boromir put the Horn of Gondor to his lips and gave a blast that echoed across the Pelennor Fields. The machines ground to a halt. The nervous shuffling of the soldiers ceased. For the first time in hours, there was complete silence. And in that silence Boromir's voice rang out.

"Hear me, servants of the Enemy! I am Boromir, Captain of the White Tower of Gondor! You have invaded my lands, destroyed my people, and now you threaten my city, which I hold most dear. Take warning! Turn back! Return to your Master and risk his wrath! For I swear on the tombs of my fathers, should you advance any further against the White City, not one of you will live to bring him word of your failure! For this place is defended and we will not yield!"

Mel's heart rose in her chest as every man along the wall roared defiantly. There was no doubt; the man could make a speech.

When the cheers died away, there was a pause. Then Mel heard a shout somewhere on the field, a single word that dropped her heart back down to her gut.

"Catapults!"

The orcs on the ground swarmed over the machines as Boromir took a step back, pulling Mel with him. Before she could blink, boulders flew through the air and collided with the parapets directly behind them. Everyone dropped and covered their heads to avoid the debris as stone crumbled like clay and shards flew through the air.

Boromir and Faramir were the first to their feet. They exchanged only a short nod, and then split up, each down a different side of the wall, shouting commands perfectly in rapid fire synchronization.

"Fill the trebuchets!

"Give them arrow fire!"

"Aim for the trolls, find a weakness!"

Mel scrambled after Boromir as archers notched their bows and let a cloud of arrows fly into the horde below. There were agonized screams as orcs dropped in waves, and roars of pain as the arrows pierced the thick hide of the trolls, who were once again pulling the siege towers toward the walls of Minas Tirith. Then the Gondorians let their own boulders fly, thumping and rolling to the ground, crushing anything in their path.

"Keep steady! Aim for the eyes!" Boromir said, as the archers prepared to release another wave.

But the black arrows reached them first and Mel dropped behind the wall to avoid them. She wasn't as well protected as the men in armor were, and she still heard screams as some of the arrows found their marks. Men fell and were dragged back out of the way by their fellow soldiers so others could take their place. Mel wasn't hurt, but she felt something… strange, a scattering of pricks along her arms and torso. It felt like a swarm of mosquitoes had descended on her. She shoved up her shirt sleeve. There was a scattering of slightly pink spots on her skin, but when she rubbed her arm to dispel the prickling sensation, the spots disappeared. She tugged the sleeve back down and pulled herself to her feet, still trailing after Boromir. There was nothing she could do about it now. She would have to figure it out later. Right now her priority was to keep Boromir in sight and as close as possible. She couldn't lose him. She didn't know what might happen if she did.

Arrows were flying back and forth now without pause. Boulders soared over their heads, knocking down towers that Mel was sure had stood for years upon years. She could hear the roars of the trolls as wave after wave of arrows pierced their thick hides. If the archers couldn't stop them, they were at least making the journey to the wall as painful as possible. And every so often, Mel would feel another wave of pricks on her skin, tiny snips of pain. She kept looking down to see if something was actually biting her, but there was nothing she could see. She continued to scramble along after Boromir, feeling a heart-stopping fear whenever she was exposed above the wall, vulnerable to arrows and debris that might come flying her way.

She squeaked and skipped backward as a man cried out and fell right in front of her, an arrow lodged in the space between his shoulder and breast plate. That single cry was the only sound he made before gritting his teeth and lying silent on his back. Mel hesitated, and then knelt down beside him. He forced open his eyes and reached out his uninjured arm to her.

"Please, my lady," he rasped, fighting for every word, "Would you help me? Just to the other side there?"

Mel felt a sort of blank astonishment. He was pained, but calm, even polite. Mel wondered briefly which of them was in more shock. She took his hand and pulled, so that he was half crawling, half dragged to the other side of the wall where he leaned back, fighting for breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know that had to hurt," Mel said, trying to help him sit up and looking at the wound, even though she knew nothing about injuries.

The soldier waved away her apologies.

"Not so much as it would have, were I alone," he said, his voice coming back to him, "Now leave me. I will rest here a while."

Mel hesitated, but when she glanced up she realized Boromir had walked nearly out of sight. She turned back to the injured soldier one more time.

"I'm sorry. I really am."

She left and she didn't look back because she was afraid of what she would see. When she caught up with Boromir, he gave her a glance, but said nothing. Mel swallowed the guilt in her throat and followed after him.

They had just reached the end of the wall and were turning back, when that horrible shriek split the air above them. Someone screamed.

"Nazgul!"

The soldiers scattered. Boromir whirled and snatched at Mel, yanking her down and pressing her against the wall as the black beast swooped over them, screeching and spreading its claws for anything within reach. It grabbed one of the trebuchets, pulling it apart like it was made of tinker-toys. The men panicked, dashing for any kind of cover. Everything was chaos. Boromir shot to his feet and his voice echoed over the stones and screams.

"Stay at your posts! Do not give in to fear! _Hold_ , Men of Gondor!"

Like magic the soldiers fell back into place, some of the archers even taking aim at the black beast that flew above them, showering it with arrows. It squealed and wheeled away, back toward the army below. Boromir reached out his hand and pulled Mel to her feet.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice harsh and his eyes like chips of flint.

Before Mel could even nod in answer, a tremendous roar echoed across the battle. Mel and Boromir turned toward the sound just in time to see one of the trolls stumble and fall. The boom of his collapse was louder than any thunder Mel had ever heard. The stones beneath her feet trembled. Orcs swarmed over the beast, beating it with whips, and for a moment the troll seemed to struggle, but then went still. The remaining troll only paused for a moment to glance at his fallen comrade before he turned back to his work, pushing the siege tower alone. It was much slower going now. Mel felt like she was in a daze. They had done it. They had actually brought down one of the trolls! If they could bring down one…

But that small flicker of hope was soon doused. Boromir's attention had been jerked away, farther down the wall, toward one of the other siege towers, now dangerously close to the wall. He started running, Mel following in his wake. As they ran, Boromir pulled any men that weren't firing arrows with him. They were mere feet away when the tower clanged open and orcs exploded out of it, chittering and cackling maniacally. Mel heard battle cries as men and orcs crashed together, and then everything was a blur. She remembered her sword in her hand, but it was as if her mind stopped working and her body took over. She whirled through the orcs coming at her, slicing and stabbing, cutting down any black thing that stood in her path. She struggled further into the fight and finally a single thought penetrated the haze of instinct clouding her mind.

_Where is Boromir?_

She spun in a circle, suddenly disoriented, not sure what direction she had been coming from or which way she had been going. Everything was a clash of black and silver as the soldiers of Gondor fought to contain the orcs still pouring out of the siege tower. There seemed to be no end to the hideous faces. Everywhere she turned another loomed over her, narrowly missing her head or limbs before being cut down like the others before it. But no matter where she looked, she couldn't find him. Boromir was gone.

She fought the panic that tried to crawl up her throat. Had she lost him, _really_ lost him? If they had made her lose him now… She felt a fury burn through her at the thought and she cried out, charging the orcs closest to her, cutting through them in a raging flurry. She had lost Boromir and they would give him back to her. Her back bumped into something and she whirled on it, only just stopping her downward swing. Boromir faced her in an almost identical stance, his eyes wide. Mel felt a trickle of relief, but pushed it away. There was no time.

"I watch your back, you watch mine," she said.

Boromir nodded. Then together they turned and faced the enemy.

It was a flurry of coordination that Mel was certain they would never be able to duplicate in any other circumstances. No orc could approach them without finding the end of a sword. Where Mel's sword failed, Boromir's swooped in and took over. Where Boromir's defense was exposed, Mel stepped up and covered it. They whirled and weaved together, almost dancing their way through the orcs still flowing from the siege tower.

Finally, several of the archers stepped up onto the wall itself and began firing arrows into the tower, essentially clogging the exit with dead orcs before they could ever climb out. It slowed the onslaught, but Mel could see the archers falling from the wall, exposed to enemy arrow fire by their bravery. It gave her just a second to take a breath and glance around.

Orcs were everywhere. Another tower had reached the wall on the opposite side of the gate and Mel thought she could glimpse Faramir and Gandalf trying to beat back the orcs shoving their way out. More soldiers were running to help, but Mel could see a third tower just one good shove from being on the wall as well. They were hopelessly outnumbered. Suddenly she understood how Denethor might have come to despair. She didn't know how much of this she could take. She was already starting to feel tired.

Then another charge of orcs distracted her and she sprang into action again, letting her mind go and her training and practice take over, telling her what to do. Orcs and men fell all around her, but she didn't allow herself to think about that. The only thing she saw was the next opponent.

She had just gutted the last orc to immediately challenge her when she heard a loud thud. Her skin shivered with the sound. It raised goosebumps on her arms. There was another thud and this one vibrated through her whole body. The third thud made her stumble and she grabbed the wall to keep upright.

"Melody?"

Boromir was suddenly beside her, his face concerned.

"Melody, what is it? You're so pale."

Mel caught her breath.

"I'm fine…"

There was another thud and this one took her breath away. She held onto the wall with both hands, trying to stay on her feet. Boromir grabbed her arm to hold her steady.

"You are most certainly _not_ fine," he said, his face grim, "I'm taking you off the wall."

"No!" Mel said, sucking in breath, "No, I have to stay…"

Another thud rocked her, and she almost dropped, but Boromir pulled her to her feet and nearly into his arms, heading toward the stairs. Another thud and Mel cried out.

"What is that?" Her voice was little more than a strangled gasp and another thud shook her to the core, "What is that _noise_?"

"The gate," Boromir replied, still dragging her in the direction of the steps, "The orcs are attempting to breach the gate using a…"

He pulled up short, and Mel's heart jump in panic. She looked up. A realization had dawned on Boromir's face, and it did not seem to have been a pleasant conclusion. Another thud echoed and Mel gritted her teeth to keep them from rattling.

"What?" she asked, "Boromir, what is it?"

"The trees..." he whispered, now staring down at her with something between awe and horror, "They are trying to breach the trees… with a battering ram."

Another thud and Mel was suddenly keenly aware of what was happening. It wasn't _her_ pain she was feeling.

"Take me to them."

"Melody, I…"

"Take me there!"

Another thud, but Mel ground her teeth and bore it. She had to.

Boromir tightened his grip, his face set, and they changed direction. They walked along the wall, the sounds of men in pain and dying all around them, arrows and boulders still flying overhead, but Mel's mind was focused on only one thing.

The Sentries… She had to get to the Sentries.

Archers stood along either side of the gates firing downward, and Mel could hear the screeches of orcs as they fell under the arrows of Minas Tirith. She saw Lord Duinhir directing his men, his large body pacing back and forth, firing his own well-placed arrows into the horde below. Mel left Boromir's support behind and stumbled forward. She had to see.

"Melody!"

She heard Boromir cry out, but she ignored him. She reached the opposite wall just as another thud from below reverberated through her. She gasped and gripped the wall for dear life. Her scrambling fingers found one of the tendrils of branches and she gripped it tightly, gathering her nerve before she finally looked down.

There were scatterings of black shafts sticking out through the leafy green barrier that covered the gate. Mel rubbed her arm. The pinpricks she had felt there still stung. A group of orcs held a log as big around as Maltalda and as she watched, they ran toward the gate and bashed the battering ram into the solid wood of the Sentries. The resounding thud echoed and shuddered its way through her entire being. She closed her eyes and slid down below the wall, clenching her teeth against the vibration still shivering through her.

" _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."_

The branch she still gripped tenderly wrapped around her hand.

" _We are strong."_ The words resounded in her head, but they felt forced and distant, " _We will stand."_

Another thud vibrated through the wall and it took everything Mel had not to react. The pain was real, but it was a dull ache and controllable, now that she knew what was causing it.

"Melody?"

Boromir had knelt beside her. She opened her eyes and smiled through the next thump of the battering ram.

"I'm alright now. It's not so bad."

Boromir's eyes narrowed, but before he could respond Gandalf came running from the other side of the wall, breathless and looking slightly panicked.

"The gate?" he asked.

Mel pushed herself upright, trying not to flinch with every strike of the battering ram.

"It holds."

Gandalf's look of relief was fleeting, replaced by a piercing stare that made Mel wonder if something in her tone had given away her discomfort. But he said nothing.

"Mel!"

Pippin charged out from behind Gandalf and skidded to a stop, looking rumpled and spattered with black blood.

"Mel, what are you doing here?" he asked cheerily, as if they'd just met in a pub

Mel stared at him.

"What am _I_ doing here?" she finally stuttered, "What the hell are _you_ doing here? You're supposed to be defending the Citadel!"

"They called us out to fight!" Pippin said, brandishing his small sword covered in orc blood.

Mel swallowed hard. He was so small… But she bit her tongue and kept her thoughts to herself. After all, she was the last person on earth qualified to pass judgment on who should be here and who shouldn't. And really, Pippin was one of the few people on this wall that she knew actually _should_ be here, though for an entirely different reason. Another thud below made Mel stop worrying about the little hobbit long enough to concentrate on showing no signs of pain. It was getting a little easier with each strike.

"I hate to break up this happy reunion," Lord Duinhir growled above them, "But I think there might be a situation a bit further down that way."

He jerked his head down the opposite wall, and everyone turned. Another siege machine had made it to the wall. Boromir reacted first, jumping up and running to meet the threat, followed by Gandalf. Pippin glanced at Mel. She looked him in his sweet little face, took a deep breath, and steeled her nerves. Then together, the two most unlikely defenders of Men ran into battle.


	16. Chapter 16

The coming of night took Mel by surprise. There had been no time to think all day. Bits of bread, dried meat and fruit had been passed down the wall, eaten only when a spare moment could be found, which wasn't often. Mel didn't even have time to decide if she was tired, though she guessed she probably was. Between chasing Boromir, looking after Pippin, and trying to keep from getting killed, she had her hands pretty full. And always there was the pounding of the battering ram against the Sentries, vibrating through her bones, rattling her teeth, making her midsection ache. Even when the battering ram was still for a moment, her body throbbed. But she didn't have time to think about that. Pain was secondary to staying alive. The passing of time wasn't even on the priority list.

Her first indication that something had changed was when she noticed that the assault by air had slowed considerably. There were occasional flurries of arrows, but most had stopped. The boulders from the catapults were few and far between now. During a break in the fighting on the wall, Mel glanced out at the field. There was a glow over the orc army that hadn't been there before. Torches had been lit. Only then did she realize that the little bit of light they had was fading. Night was falling on Minas Tirith. She took a deep breath and let it out. If they could just survive this night…

A sharp cry of pain brought Mel crashing back to the present and she spun, searching for the source of the cry. Her heart stopped.

"Faramir!" Boromir shouted, lunging past her toward his brother, who seemed to have sprouted a long black shaft from his shoulder.

Mel's body froze while her mind raced. Was this it? Was this her choice? Had she somehow missed her opportunity? How could she possibly choose between Boromir and his brother? Surely the Valar would never be so cruel…

"It's alright, it's alright," Faramir gasped as Boromir put his arm around him, "It's only my shoulder. I'll be alright."

"We must get you off the wall," Boromir said, his voice tense, but calm, "You must have a healer."

"Boromir, my legs are still working, I assure you I can walk."

Faramir pulled away from his brother and stood on his own, supporting his wound with one hand. He was pale, but his eyes were bright and he was walking under his own power. A lot of that power was probably a combination of shock and adrenaline, but he wasn't dying. He was just hurt. She suddenly felt weak. She slowly and casually put her hand on the wall to support her shaking knees. How was she supposed to live like this, always waiting for that impossible choice? She didn't have the energy. She didn't have the strength.

"You must stay here," Faramir insisted, moving as if to clasp Boromir's shoulder, only to wince and drop his injured arm back to his side, "I will have my wound tended and be back as soon as I am able."

Boromir gave his brother a glance, as if to make sure he was really okay, before he nodded.

"Go."

Faramir stumbled down the stairs where he was met by other soldiers who accompanied him up the road toward the healers. There were others making their way toward the Citadel, not all of them walking. Many were on makeshift stretchers. The lucky ones were unconscious, but most writhed in agony. Some were left where they lay. Mel tried not to think about those. She couldn't. Not right now.

"The enemy is quiet," Gandalf said as he joined them on the wall.

Boromir turned toward the glow that hovered over the plains, the light gleaming on his face, streaked with black blood and lined with suspicion.

"Yes, far too quiet."

"Maybe they're taking a breather."

Pippin's clear, upbeat voice at Mel's elbow made her jump. The little hobbit was also covered in orc blood, but his eyes were shining as he swept his mop of curls back from his face. He had fought as bravely as anyone on the wall today. Mel was proud of him.

He looked around wide-eyed as everyone stared down at him.

"What? Even orcs have to rest sometime!" He glanced up at Mel and doubt flickered in his eyes, "Don't they?"

Mel didn't know what to say. They were horrifically outnumbered. They had thwarted the attempt of the siege machines to breach the walls, but she knew that had not been what the Enemy was relying on to breach the city. There hadn't been enough effort put into it. But she couldn't tell Pippin that. She just smiled and put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to her.

Then she realized that she had not felt the thud of the battering ram in what felt like a very long while. She touched her abdomen cautiously. The pain had subsided, though there was still a dull ache from a day's worth of pounding.

"Melody?" Boromir was beside her in an instant, "What is it?"

"It stopped," she muttered, looking up at him, "The battering ram. It stopped."

A low thrum of sound started to echo up from the field, dark and sinister. The orcs were chanting. Mel felt a cold dread seep into her skin. She shuddered.

"What's that?" Pippin asked, the scant trace of a tremble in his voice.

Mel gripped Pippin's shoulder tighter to keep from shaking. She knew what this was. She _remembered_ it. The chanting grew louder. Slowly, the men on the wall began to turn toward the sound. There was movement on the field, the army below rippling as a bright glow slowly wound its way through the blackness. The chanting echoed over the plains, and finally Mel could hear it, the same word, over and over.

"Grond… Grond… Grond…"

A pulse of panic began to build inside her with each reverberating echo of the name. She dropped her arm from Pippin's shoulder and started walking.

"Mel?"

She heard Pippin's voice, heard the uncertainty and the fear. But she couldn't answer him. She couldn't help him. The chant had filled her head beyond the point of rational thought.

"Melody…"

Boromir's voice echoed as she brushed past him. She couldn't stop. The gate. She had to reach the gate. She began to walk faster.

"Melody?"

"Mel!"

"Lady Melody!"

Boromir, Pippin, Gandalf, other voices less familiar, it didn't matter. She started to run, her name echoing and chasing her down the wall. She couldn't stop. She had to get to the gate. Mindless of everything else, she pushed past soldiers that blocked her way, ignoring the cries of surprise, outrage, concern, that followed in her wake. She had to be at the gate. She was needed there. _They_ would need her, when…

She reached the gate and someone took her arm gently, but firmly. She tried to pull away, but she couldn't break free. She looked up. Prince Imrahil was watching her, his soothing blue eyes unwavering.

"What is it, Lady Melody?"

He could have been asking her the same thing over the dinner table. There was no trace of concern or fear in his voice. The question was simple, unadorned. Mel felt a little of his calm seep into her and a little of her mind came back to her, enough to allow her to speak.

"Please," she said, "Please, stop them. Stop that thing."

The prince looked out across the plain and Mel followed his eyes. She could see it now, rolling toward them, a monster made of fire and metal. The great battering ram Grond, pulled by two huge creatures that looked like mutated rhinoceroses, surrounded on all sides by a rippling sea of orcs. Trolls in spiky battle armor lumbered behind and following them was the Witch-king. He sat back on his flying beast, content to let the battering ram do its job. Mel's chest contracted when she thought about what that meant. If she had felt the steady throb of the battering ram…

Prince Imrahil took only a moment to assess the situation. Then he began to give orders in the same calm voice that had brought Mel back to herself, albeit more loudly.

"Reset the archers. Pull in toward the gates. Set your sights on the beasts."

Gandalf's voice joined him from behind her and Mel wondered when he had caught up to her.

"All swordsmen to the ground level! We'll form ranks at the gate!"

"Set the trebuchets!" Boromir called, his voice at Mel's side, "Bring down the trolls!"

People swirled around her and arrows flew over the wall. Several found targets, but the rhinoceros-like creatures seemed to have hide thicker than even the trolls. They roared with pain, but still pressed on, driven by orcs with merciless whips. Pieces of destroyed masonry flew through the air and rolled into one or two of the trolls, but they just kept going, fear of their masters overruling any fear of death.

Mel watched, disconnected. Prince Imrahil had let go of her arm, walking the wall, repositioning archers. Boromir still stood at her side, but he was shouting orders, directing his men. Mel was left adrift in ever-growing hopelessness, watching Grond draw inevitably nearer, flames flickering behind his bared teeth. She slid her hands over the wall and felt the tendrils of the Sentries curl around her fingers.

" _We are strong,"_ they said, dual voices echoing faintly in her mind, _"We will hold."_

The flame within Grond flared in the night and Mel flinched from the light.

" _You deserve better,"_ She said, _"You deserve more than this."_

" _There is nothing so great as to give of yourself for that which you love."_

Mel closed her eyes, taking a deep breath through her nose, clenching her fists around the branches twisted in her fingers, gritting her teeth. This wasn't right. None of this was right. But the Sentries were ready. So was she.

She opened her eyes.

"Okay," she muttered, "Let's do this."

Grond shuddered to a halt. Arrows still flew and Mel could hear the cries of the injured and dying. The trolls began to pull back the ropes. The flaming monster began it long, arduous journey backward. Mel looked into those blazing eyes and her fear disappeared. There was nothing she could do. Nothing. The trolls pulled until the ropes that held the beast strained with the tension. There was a pause.

Then they let go.

Mel never heard the crash. Her own scream drowned it out. Excruciating pain exploded inside her, trying to split her in two and she was on fire, every bone in her body had been shattered, crushed, crumpled like a piece of paper, burning, burning, everything was burning…

…and something surged from her, a pulse of green light that burst from her center, rippling over the air and coursing down the length of the Sentries like a cluster of lightning. She gasped as the breath was knocked out of her. She slumped against the wall, dimly aware of the muffled shouting all around her, like her ears had been stuffed with cotton. She didn't care. Her skin was on fire, but at least the terrible crushing pain was gone. She was trying to remember how to breathe. And she was so tired…

"Melody!"

Through the fire still licking at her skin, she barely registered Boromir's arms wrapped around her, holding her steady. She felt a stab of panic. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she was sure she didn't want Boromir anywhere near her when it happened again.

"I'm alright," she lied, pushing herself upright and trying to hide that she was still catching her breath, "I'm alright just stay back, I don't want to hurt you."

"You are not alright!" Boromir said, his muffled voice angry in her ear, "You have to stop this!"

Mel shook her head and pushed away from him, stumbling to her feet. Her hands were still wrapped up in the tendrils of the Sentries and her eyes followed them down over the wall. Flames were licking at the leaves and smaller branches, blackening the edges of the barrier they had worked so hard to create. But the trunks… the trunks were intact. As if nothing had happened to them. A swarm of orcs were scurrying on the ground below, squealing and chittering, cowering away from the Sentries with looks of fear and mistrust. Mel felt a smug smile curl her lips through the residue of pain left behind.

_That's right… Not just ordinary trees now…_

"Melody…" Boromir's voice was pleading, his arms placed tentatively around her, pulling her gently, "Please… Please, you must…"

But the trolls were pulling at the ropes again. The power of the Yavannacor was not nearly so frightening as the Lord of the Nazgul. Mel gripped the Sentries branches and planted her feet.

"I can't," she said, "It's too late. Let go of me, Boromir. I don't want to hurt you."

Her voice was steady, her eyes fixed on those flaming teeth. She knew what was coming. She was prepared for it. She felt Boromir's hands slip away and she gripped the wall more tightly in his absence, willing herself to stay upright. She was ready.

But when Grond slammed into them Mel still screamed in agony as her ribs and lungs were crushed flat in her chest and her entire body went up in flames. Again, a green light pulsed somewhere deep inside her and the Sentries were consumed by green lightning. The burning remained, but the crushing pain was gone. Only this time Mel couldn't hold herself up anymore. She stumbled to her knees, held upright only by the branches still gripping her hands. Black spots blurred her vision and the act of drawing breath was exhausting. She wasn't just tired. She was dying. The next blow would be the last. She had nothing left…

"Melody Calenhiril!"

Mel forced her eyes open. Gandalf was standing over her, surrounded by a faint glow of white. He looked very angry.

"Melody Calenhiril! Let go!"

The wizard's words held a power that she recognized, the same power she had heard in the voices of the Valar. It was a voice that demanded obedience. But still Mel shook her head.

"I can't…" she gasped, "I can't…"

"You can and you will," the wizard ordered, "Let go!"

Mel closed her eyes. She was so tired.

" _Calenhiril…"_

The voice of the Sentries floated up through her consciousness, quiet, reserved, calm.

" _Calenhiril… Let go…"_

"I can't," she whispered, "I don't know how."

_"Let go…"_

Behind her closed lids Mel felt more than saw a tiny pinprick of light rise up from the Sentries, swirling toward her, lifted on the sound of their gentle voice. It took a moment for her to see, even longer for her to understand. The light was following a path, a fragile thread that linked her life to the lives of the Sentries below. She hadn't even realized it existed.

 _"Let go, Calenhiril…"_ they murmured gently, _"There is much yet that you must do. Let go…"_

They were going to die. They knew it. Mel could _feel_ it, the crushing certainty nearly as painful as the battering ram. And they were trying to release her, to save her. Everything within Mel balked. There had to be something else, another way. The Sentries were _hers,_ she was supposed to take care of them, supposed to keep them safe! She gripped that line between them, holding onto it as tightly as she could and, from somewhere below, a cloud of warm comfort billowed up and enfolded her.

_"Let go…"_

She could hear the creaking of the ropes below. She could smell the ash on the air. Her heart broke.

 _"I'm sorry,"_ she whispered, so only they could hear, _"I'm so… so sorry."_

She gripped the golden thread for a moment in her mind… and then snapped it. It recoiled back on her, like a broken rubber band, and she gasped, her eyes flew open and she bolted up, straight into Boromir's arms. He cradled her tightly to his chest.

"It's alright now, Melody, it's alright…" he soothed, smoothing her hair and rocking her gently.

There was a crash below and the wall trembled. Mel flinched. But there was no pain. She felt nothing but exhaustion and a dull, empty ache. Gandalf knelt by her side and placed a hand to her forehead.

"One more blow and that would have been the end of you," he muttered gruffly.

Mel pulled back and looked at Boromir, trying to work up the strength to make a face that would adequately convey her displeasure.

"You brought Gandalf."

It wasn't a question and Boromir didn't insult her by trying to deny it.

"I had no choice. You were beyond reason."

"And well he should have brought me!" Gandalf exclaimed, "Your life is not something to be tossed aside! You, of all people, should know this by now."

Mel saw his eyes flicker briefly to Boromir's face. She swallowed. If she died, who would be here to make her choice? Who would save Boromir from his fate? Gandalf was right. Her death was not a trivial thing. She should have known better. She reached up and brushed Boromir's cheek.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I'm really sorry."

He took her hand and kissed it.

"There is no need."

There was another crash and Mel flinched again. Boromir's grip on her tightened and his eyes flickered over her, anxiety lining his brow.

"Are you still in pain?"

The gleeful cackling of the orcs floated up over the walls. Smoke wisped through the air, carrying with it the scent of burning wood…

Mel held back bile and tears, and shook her head.

"No," she lied, "No, it doesn't hurt."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is very short. I apologize in advance. Hopefully I will have another chapter up for you soon :)

**Chapter 17**

Boromir helped Mel off the wall and lowered her onto a stack of burlap sacks. Even walking such a short distance was exhausting, but Mel forced her expression to remain blank. If she showed any signs of weakness Boromir might insist that she leave the defenses altogether, and that wasn't an option. She couldn't leave. Not only because she needed to watch out for Boromir, but because she couldn't leave the Sentries. Not now. Not after…

There was a crash and Mel flinched before she could catch herself. She couldn't feel anything, not with her link to the Sentries severed. And even if she had reached out again, she was sure they wouldn't accept her help. But her separation from them had only made her more determined to stay, to see this battle through to the end, whatever end that might be. It was the least she could do.

Gandalf ordered water brought and Mel drank it, trying not to gulp it down. A small part of her said that would probably be a bad idea. Someone pressed an apple into her hand and she looked up. Pippin smiled as he wrapped her fingers around the smooth red skin.

"I know they're your favorite."

Mel bit her lip and resisted the urge to pull him into her lap and cry into his curls. He wasn't a child. He wasn't even as young as he had been when they had started this journey. Mel blinked back the stinging in her eyes and returned his smile before she took a bite of her apple, forcing herself to chew slowly and swallow before taking another bite.

Boromir had not budged from her side, even for a moment. He didn't speak as she ate and drank, only stared at her intently; examining everything she did with minute concern. When Grond slammed the gates again and she flinched, his grip on her hand tightened.

"I still think you should see the healers," he said, as she continued to work on reducing her apple to nothing but core, "You are too pale."

Mel shook her head, taking another gulp of water.

"Really, I'm fine. I feel much better."

She held his gaze and willed him to believe her. Mandos could insist she make good on her debt at any time. She didn't want to leave him. Boromir looked unhappy, but he didn't get the chance to voice his objections. One of Lord Duinhir's sons, dark and scruffy like his father, ran up to them and bowed.

"My lord, the trolls will not be felled and my men run short of arrows."

Boromir stood and Mel stood with him. He still held her hand and Mel was reluctant to give up the tiny bit of comfort it gave her.

"Arrows I can supply, but if we do not take down the trolls, the city will be breached no matter how many arrows we loose. The gates must be secured."

"I will make certain the gates are supported from the inside." Gandalf said.

Boromir nodded.

"Very well, but it cannot hold for long against this strain."

There was another well-timed crash and Mel forced herself to stay steady, even though inside she felt like screaming.

Boromir turned back to the young man, his eyes burning.

"Find a weakness. The eyes, mouth, neck, anything. We must stop this assault."

The scruffy lord bowed and ran back to the wall, calling out orders to his archers. Boromir drew his sword and turned back to Gandalf.

"I will hold the wall. If the gate is breached…"

Gandalf nodded and rested a hand on Pippin's shoulder.

"We will stand ready."

Boromir's eyes flicked to Mel, a sort of resigned pleading in his eyes. He wanted her to stay, but he knew that she wouldn't. She met his eyes and drew her sword, a flicker of a smirk twitching her lips.

"Ready?" she asked.

The resigned pleading hardened into grim determination. He nodded. Together they climbed the wall and began the longest night of their lives.

If you'd asked her afterward, Mel couldn't have begun to tell you what that night was like. Most of it was a horrifying blur. Though most of the Enemy's efforts seemed to be concentrated on breaching the gate, there were still several thousand orcs attempting to scale the walls by either rope or ladder. Mel spent most of her time running after Boromir, back and forth along the wall, fending off assault after assault in what felt like an endless loop. Mel caught herself wondering if this would go on forever… but then she was thrust back into another fight for her life and didn't have time to think about it anymore.

And over all of it was the constant thud of Grond, crashing again and again into the gates below. Mel happened to catch a glimpse of the damage during a brief moment of quiet, and then wished she hadn't. The battering ram had finally punched through the last defense of the Sentries. Every leaf and branch that remained was on fire, the flames licking along the trunk, leaving no bit of wood unscathed. Through the smoldering hole she could just glimpse the gleaming metal of the gates. But it wasn't dented. The Sentries' sacrifice had served its purpose, giving the soldiers on the ground level time to put up support beams. Under Gandalf's supervision, they had made sure the most support was given to the area that the battering ram consistently crashed into. It would hold a while longer.

The screams of dying men and the cackling of orcs brought Mel sharply back to the wall and she was running again, a small part of her grateful for the distraction. She didn't want to think about the Sentries, not yet, not while there was still so much to do. Instead she took that pain and compacted it into anger, flinging herself into the next battle, whirling through blood and clashing metal, taking down any orcs that dared to come within reach of her blade.

But even that couldn't last forever. The constant running and fighting were taking a toll that even Mel's heightened adrenaline couldn't keep up with. She was slowing down, she could feel it. She tried to overcompensate, forcing herself to work harder and swing faster, which did nothing but make her wild and unpredictable, not always such a good thing. Her brain couldn't keep up and she found more and more that she was just barely missing having limbs severed. One orc even got so far as to catch her just below the elbow with the tip of his sword, ripping through both shirt and skin. The pain brought a sharpness back to her mind and she was able to kill him before he took another swing, but as she took a moment to wrap the bleeding gash she felt a moment of panic. Would this night never end? She pulled the ends of the bandage tight with her teeth and slid to sit at the base of the wall, barely able to force her eyes to stay open. If Sauron himself had appeared before her, she didn't think she could have stood to face him.

She was still trying to catch her breath when Boromir slid down beside her, covered in black blood and dripping sweat. He glanced at her just as she reached up to push back her sticky, sweat-soaked hair and caught a glimpse of the blood-stained bandage wrapped around her arm.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding just as tired as she felt, which made Mel feel only the tiniest bit better.

"Just a scratch," she answered, tugging at the bandage self-consciously, "You?"

He nodded, his eyes flitting around them.

"I fear I cannot say the same for all of us."

Mel kept her eyes fixed on the toes of her boots. She didn't want to look. She knew they were the lucky ones. Most of the men that had stood with them were battered and bruised, sporting hastily tied bandages already soaked through with blood. Several were being helped off the wall with injuries too serious to allow them to continue. And then there were those that didn't move at all. Mel couldn't think about them for too long. That could be Boromir or Pippin. It could be her, lying on the stones, motionless. She couldn't think about it. She closed her eyes and tried to erase the images from her mind, but they seemed burned on the backs of her eyelids.

"If we can just get through this awful night…" she whispered.

There was another crash on the gate and she shuddered.

"Boromir! Boromir!"

Pippin's high-pitched, panicked cry cut through the fog that threatened to engulf Mel's mind. Her eyes snapped open as the hobbit skidded to a stop in front of them, panting and trying to form a coherent sentence.

"The gate, it's… it's going to… The gate's buckling!"

In one smooth motion Boromir pushed himself to his feet and ran toward the stairs, Pippin following in his wake and Mel scrambling to catch up. They passed Prince Imrahil and Boromir ordered him to hold the wall, which he was already doing admirably, in Mel's opinion. They sprinted down the stairs toward the gate, which Mel could clearly see was bending, even under the supports.

 _No_ _…_ she thought, _it's supposed to hold_ _… we made it hold!_

If the gates were breached it was all for nothing. The Sentries' sacrifice, her pain at their loss, would all be for nothing. That couldn't be. It just couldn't.

On the ground, Gandalf stood staring at the gate, leaning heavily on his staff. In the gray light, he looked old and very tired.

"What's being done to hold the gate?" Boromir demanded, running his hands over the buckling beams supporting the sagging metal plates.

"There is nothing more to be done," the wizard replied, "The Witch-king's power is strong and his will resolute. We have only to wait for his coming."

There wasn't any despair in Gandalf's voice. It was the voice of someone who had guessed his own fate and was resolved to face it, whatever it might be. Boromir must have seen this written on the wizard's face as plainly as Mel did. He stepped back from the gate, his face set grimly.

"So be it."

Mel felt panic surge up her throat, threatening to choke her, and she tried to fight it down. There was nothing she could do. She had sacrificed the Sentries' lives, put them through unimaginable pain, for nothing. Nothing had changed. Nothing would ever change. She closed her eyes, trying to fight back angry tears. It wasn't fair. It wasn't…

A horn sounded in the distance. Mel's eyes flew open. Her heart stopped. No one moved. All the soldiers of Minas Tirith stood in complete stillness. There was hardly a breath. Boromir met Mel's eyes and held them. But nothing happened. Nothing happened for so long that Mel began to wonder if she had imagined it. Until she heard it again, a clear horn blast, ringing brightly through the cool morning air.

"The Rohirrim…" she whispered.

She started running, taking the steps two at a time, Boromir following at her heels. They reached the top of the wall and turned east. There, just along the line of the horizon, Mel could see a dark rippling line against the light of the slowly rising sun. Mel nearly sagged with relief. The night was finally over.

Boromir lifted his horn and blew an answering blast that echoed off the stone of the city, reverberating through Mel's entire body, a rich, warm hum.

"The Rohirrim!" he cried, "Rohan has come! Rise, Men of Gondor! Rise to meet the bright new dawn!"

The walls echoed with the triumphant roar of the soldiers. Below them, the orcs that had been driving the battering ram shifted nervously. The trolls lowered their ropes and turned east. Several horns from the Rohirrim blasted in unison as the sun finally rose, filling the plains with gloriously blinding light.

The Witch-king gave a chilling scream and lifted into the air, turning his beast toward the new threat. The orcs and trolls around the gates broke ranks and scattered, rushing to follow their captain. Chaos spread through the army of Morder, confusion sending them running in every direction, turning from the battered walls of the White City to the line of riders on the horizon. The Rohirrim roared and there was a sound like rumbling thunder as the horses charged down into the unprepared orc army, sweeping through them as if they were blades of grass.

The siege of Minas Tirith was over. The Battle for the Pelennor Fields had begun.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elvish at the end of this chapter, translations are in hover text and in the note at the end of the chapter :)

Mel stood transfixed, watching as the Rohirrim spread out and split the invading army, one group surrounding the outside edge, another cutting a wide path deep into the enemy ranks, heading toward the White City. Boromir ran by her and his shouts brought her thoughts back to the wall.

"Take aim! Bring them down!"

His voice roused the Gondorian archers, who had all seemed as stunned as Mel for a minute. But now they took aim and began firing rapidly at the orcs that remained closest to the wall, picking them off while their attention was diverted by the new battle on the horizon. Mel ducked out of the way, and happened to catch a glimpse to the south. Her heart hit her throat.

"Boromir!" she shouted, running down the wall after him, "Boromir!"

She grabbed his arm and pointed toward the haze of dust blurring a line of dark figures on the edge of the plains. The Haradrim. They would be here in minutes. Boromir saw them too, nodding tersely, and then waving at his uncle farther down the wall. Prince Imrahil joined them, his expression grave as he looked where his nephew gestured.

"We must ride out to meet them," Boromir said, "The defenses will not last on a divided front for long."

The prince's eyes flicked quickly over the tendrils of blackened wood that still clung to the wall before his blue eyes met Mel's.

"Will the gates open for us, my lady?"

It took a second for Mel to process what he was asking of her. They needed to know if the Sentries had enough life left in them to allow the soldiers to pass through the gates. That meant… She had to reach out to them. She had to reach out her hand and… She wasn't ready. She didn't know if she would ever be ready. She glanced at Boromir, desperate for someone to tell her she didn't have to do this, that it wasn't really necessary, that she could just… But it was. It was necessary and she knew it. So she swallowed and managed a slow, shuddering breath, before she marched over to the wall and, steeling her nerves, wrapped her hand around a single blackened branch.

At first there was nothing, and Mel thought she was going to throw up. They were dead. There was nothing left, nothing she could do, nothing… But she swallowed the bile stinging the back of her throat and let her mind sink deeper, determined to be absolutely sure. And as she probed down into the heart of the trees, she felt the tiniest flicker. She latched onto that spark like it was the last light left on earth and slowly, painstakingly, drew it out into a faint, but steady glow.

_"Sentries?"_

There was no answer. Mel hesitated. The Sentries had been through enough, the last thing she wanted was to press them into anything they weren't ready for, but she could feel the pressure of time and she needed answers. She was about to dig deeper and try again, when she heard a small voice floating up out of the blackness behind her eyelids.

_"…Calenhiril?"_

A single voice. Not the strange dual voices that had been so strong and brave, that had stood without fear against an army of orcs and the fires of hell. Just one, small, trembling voice…

 _"What…what has happened?"_ he called, _"I am alone. Why am I alone?"_

Tears escaped and trickled down her cheek. Oh, this… this was more than unfair. It was cruel. It was wrong. She felt the confusion, the fear, the panicked desperation in that small, lonely voice as the words struck her over and over.

_"Where is he? Where is my brother? Why am I alone? I have never been alone. Calenhiril, please, where is he?"_

She tried her best to calm the lone Sentry before he brought them both spiraling down into hysteria, but she didn't know what to say. She was as lost and broken as he was, as if a bit of her heart had been torn out of her. What could she say? What could she do?

 _"I'm sorry,"_ she whispered, barely able to form the words, _"I'm so… I'm so sorry, but I… I need your help. Please."_

There was a long pause, long enough that Mel was afraid for a moment that she'd lost him. But when he spoke again, his voice was calm and steady.

_"What must I do?"_

She didn't want to ask. But she had to.

_"We need… to get through the gates."_

She waited a moment, trying to find the words to ask, but in the end she didn't have to.

_"I will have to let go."_

Mel felt like she couldn't breathe. The small voice was so calm, so resolute, and what she was asking was so unthinkably horrific…

 _"Yes,"_ she said, _"I'm so sorry."_

He only paused for a moment before he answered.

_"I will do it."_

A knot of anxiety inside Mel loosened.

" _Thank you,"_ she said and prepared to release him, but the light reached up and wrapped around her, whispering softly.

_"Calenhiril? Was it worth it? Did we save the city?"_

Something cold and hard hit Mel hard in the stomach. It wasn't worth it. At that moment, Mel felt there was nothing that could make the empty ache in her chest worth it. But she put aside that angry chill and instead worked to soothe the glowing Sentry's light.

" _Yes,"_ she murmured, _"You saved us."_

Then she let him go, but kept the tie between them intact. There was no danger to her anymore and she couldn't bear to leave him. He had no one else. She looked up. Boromir stood close by, his hands hovering just a hair away from touching her, his face creased anxiously.

"We can pass," she said.

Rather than looking relieved, Boromir's brow furrowed even deeper.

"They… They still live? But then why do you weep?"

She quickly brushed away the tears that clung to her face.

"They didn't. Not both of them anyway."

Mel was trying not to allow her voice to tremble, but it wasn't working.

"They've… They've never been parted, Boromir, _never_. What is he supposed to do now? He's all alone. It isn't… It isn't fair."

Boromir didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. Life isn't fair. Mel knew that better than anyone, she guessed. He reached out and took her hand.

"Come," he said, "The lords are gathering."

Mel nodded, still wiping her face to stop her tears as she followed him down from the wall. Gandalf and the lords of Gondor were waiting before the gate, looking very tired, but bright-eyed all the same. Lord Forlong looked especially jovial and as they approached he strode forward, took Mel's hand and kissed it heartily, despite the fact she was covered in orc blood and grime.

"Your gifts are treasures, m'lady!" he proclaimed, "We are forever in your debt."

"Let us not dole out debts so soon, Lord Forlong," Lord Hurin said, though he didn't look quite so sourly at her as he had before, "There is still a battle to be won."

"Quite so," Gandalf agreed, "And the city must remain defended."

"I leave the care of the city to you and Lord Hurin, Mithrandir," Boromir said, "Lord Duinhir and his archers will cover us from the wall."

"My sons would like to take some of our people and ride out with you as well, Lord Boromir," Lord Duinhir said, his boys nodding beside him, "I believe we can spare the men."

Boromir nodded.

"Very well. Lord Golasgil, you and your men will remain and defend the gate once it is opened."

The thin faced man nodded, clearly trying to hide how relieved he was.

"The rest of us shall gather as many men as can be spared and go to the aid of our brothers, the horse-lords."

"Perhaps it would be wiser, Lord Boromir, if you were to head the defense of the city, and I…"

Boromir fixed Lord Hurin with an icy stare that cut him off.

"I will not remain behind these walls while the lords of another land defend my city. You will remain, Lord Hurin, and defend Minas Tirith in my absence. Is that clear?"

Lord Hurin bowed his head in agreement, though he looked disappointed at the thought of staying behind. Mel felt sorry for him, which was a new feeling for her. While the other lords went to gather their men and Boromir was in conference with Gandalf, Mel hesitantly approached Lord Hurin, who appeared to be trying not to sulk.

"For what it's worth," she said bluntly, gaining Lord Hurin's attention, "I don't think Minas Tirith could be left in better hands than yours, Lord Hurin."

His eyes widened in surprise and his mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he finally set his jaw and nodded sharply.

"Thank you, Lady Melody."

She returned his nod and walked away, not wanting to make him feel like she needed any meaningless sentiments in return. That wasn't the point. The point was he loved this city as much as Boromir or anyone else. He deserved something for that, respect if nothing else. She glanced at Gandalf as she walked by and caught him smiling at her. He nodded once in approval before he turned away.

Boromir was on the other side of the courtyard speaking with a stable boy, someone that, after a moment, Mel recognized as Bergil. The boy bowed low as she joined them.

"Greetings, my lady."

Mel smiled, resisting the urge to ruffle his hair the way she did Pippin's.

"Hello, Bergil."

It took her a minute to realize Boromir held the reins to not one, but two horses. She raised an eyebrow at him. She had been expecting the same fight they always had, he would forbid her going, she would go anyway, it had become routine by now. Boromir just shook his head and handed her a set of reins.

"Time is of the essence and it is pointless to argue with you."

Mel took the reins from him and managed something approaching a smile.

"Thank you."

She hoped he knew she meant that, for so much more than the horse.

Bergil held their bridles as they mounted, then they joined the others at the gate. Men were lining up in ranks, separated by their respective regions, and it was pretty easy to tell which men belonged to which lord just by looking at them. Lord Forlong's people were primarily armed with huge axes that mimicked their lord's. Lord Duinhir's sons led a band of archers as large as they were, many with the same unruly dark hair. Prince Imrahil's men were the most impressive by far, all in shining silver armor and blue cloaks emblazoned with blindingly white swans. Mel caught the twinkling blue eye of Lord Hirluin, dressed in his signature forest green, along with the group of men that followed him. They exchanged a nod. When Mel saw the soldiers all gathered together in the main courtyard, she thought they actually looked quite impressive. This was no small band of survivors. This was an army.

She turned back to the gates and reached for the Sentry. She could feel his glow in her mind and the jolt of pain as he worked to unravel himself from the immobile branches of his brother, making room for the soldiers of Minas Tirith to pass. He was nearly finished.

A cry from the wall jerked her mind from the gate.

"The king! The king of Rohan has fallen! Lord Theoden has fallen!"

The men of Gondor shifted and murmured uneasily. Boromir looked at Mel, his face a blank mask. She wished she knew what he was thinking.

"Is it done?" he asked.

Mel reached out one more time to the Sentry, feeling out his branches, making sure he was completely clear. She didn't want any more damage done to him, not even on accident. Once she was sure he had pulled away, she opened her eyes.

 _ **"Yes, we are ready,"**_ she said, her voice holding what was left of the last Sentry, giving it that dual quality she had heard when the Sentries had spoken together. It reverberated through the courtyard and the men fell silent in its wake.

Boromir nodded and turned to the soldiers, raising his sword.

"Men of Gondor, soldiers of the West, brothers all! Today, we fight for freedom! We fight for our children and our children's children! May our deeds on this bright new day be such that our songs will be remembered in time out of mind! For Gondor!"

"For Gondor!" the men roared and Mel roared with them, her own sword in the air. The energy in the air was intoxicating.

Boromir wheeled his horse about, grabbed Mel's hand, and pressed a fervent kiss to her palm.

"I love you," he said, his eyes burning so intensely that Mel had to catch her breath.

"I love you too," she replied, her heart pounding.

He grinned. And right then she knew, no matter what, she could never live without him.

"Open the gates!" Boromir shouted.

With a whine and a loud creak, the gates slowly started to pull apart. The large dent in the center prevented them from opening completely, but when they gone as far as they were able, Boromir sounded the Horn of Gondor, a loud, clear blast that swept through the air, clearing away all fear that might have lingered. Then with a shout, the army of Gondor charged through the gates of Minas Tirith.

The air pulsed the second they cleared the gate and Mel knew the Witch-King of Angmar was dead, but that was the last coherent thought she was allowed. They had only a few moments of surprise before the enemy realized they were being attacked from behind. There was a confused commotion as the orcs tried to form ranks, but the soldiers of Gondor were already pouring onto the field, hewing them down where they stood.

Mel followed Boromir straight into the thick of it, slashing and stabbing at any black thing that moved. Unlike the horse she'd ridden into Osgiliath, the steed Mel had now was a war horse, sturdy and trained for battle. He reared out and kicked at the orcs that approached, almost unseating her at first before she realized what he was doing. But she adjusted more quickly than she would have thought, settling into her seat and lashing out with her sword, while her horse managed to stomp any stragglers.

Boromir was a whirlwind ahead of her, leading the charge deep into the thick of the enemy. It took everything Mel had to keep up with him. Slowly they pushed deeper and deeper into enemy lines, cutting a path of destruction through the ranks, not just orcs now, but orcs and men, bearing the dark skin and strange tattoos of Easterlings. Mel didn't let herself think of them as Men. If she did, she was sure she would lose her nerve. They came at her like orcs, so she treated them like orcs, cutting them down and ignoring the fact that her sword was now stained red, as well as black.

She didn't even know where they were going until she began to see other horses, bearing the green and gold of the Riders of Rohan. She glanced up. They were making their way up a hill where a small company was making a stand against a horde of orcs three times their size. One of the men seemed half crazed, tearing through any orcs that dared come near him, surging into the oncoming enemy wildly. Mel had just enough time to wonder if that could be Eomer when something caught her eye… something big…

"The Corsair ships!" she yelled, "Boromir, look!"

Boromir glanced toward the river, but Mel could tell he didn't understand. Had he forgotten? It was almost over.

The enemy around them obviously didn't realize what was going on either. For a moment their efforts were renewed ten-fold and Mel didn't have time to think about anything but staying alive. Then there was a confused chittering and the group around her scattered. She looked up again. On the mast of the front ship flew a dark blue flag bearing the White Tree of Gondor, adorned with seven sparkling stars and a gleaming crown that flashed brightly in the morning sun. The banner of the Kings.

"Boromir!" she shouted, pointing.

Finally what was happening seemed to dawn on him and he gave a loud whoop, hefting his sword into the air as his cry was echoed by all those around them. He lifted his horn and let out three short blasts, joy echoing in their clear calls, and then whooped again, whirling back on the enemy orcs, who looked like they still hadn't quite figured out what the hell was going on. That was just fine with Mel. She tightened her grip on her sword, feeling the dull throb of pain in her mind that was now the lone Sentry's only companion. Then she lashed out at the orcs with a renewed spirit, fighting her way forward until she and Boromir were in amongst the men of Rohan that had made their stand on the hill.

The half-crazed man leading the Rohirrim caught sight of Boromir and lunged toward him eagerly. They spoke only a few words that Mel didn't hear, but they seemed familiar to one another, which made her almost positive that it had to be Eomer. Suddenly the two men turned and plunged off of the hill together, heading toward the river, Mel and the other riders following in their wake. The Rangers of the North had disembarked and Mel could see that the army of Sauron was trapped between them. They were fighting on two fronts, something Mel knew to be a bad thing.

They pushed forward and Mel allowed herself a small twinge of satisfaction when she saw some of the orcs turn to run rather than stand and fight. The men of Rohan and Gondor whirled around her, running down any that got in their way. At one point, Mel thought she caught a glimpse of two dark haired elves that could have been mirror images of each other. Elladan! Elrohir! But she didn't have time to call out to them because a large, dark-skinned Easterling covered in those strange tattoos was taking aim for them with a large spear and they hadn't noticed. Before she could think, Mel spurred her horse forward and stabbed the man through the chest. She tried not to think about it. Instead she turned back to the battle, ready to plunge back in…

"Lass!"

She whirled toward the voice, so wonderfully familiar. Gimli waved his ax at her, and then used it to chop the legs out from under an orc twice his size. Her heart leapt to see him and she grinned. And then she had another thought, something she hadn't even allowed herself to consider for so long. If Gimli was close… that meant…

A band of orcs rushed her company and Mel had to shove the thought aside again, forced to use all her strength to put an end to them. It didn't take as long as she would have guessed. The army was in retreat. None stood against them now. The men chased after the fleeing orcs, cutting down those too slow to escape. Very few would live to bring the bad news to Sauron.

Mel didn't join the chase. She was done, done with fighting, done with killing. She was tired and dirty and when she looked at this field of victory all she saw was death. There were too many men on the ground bearing the cloaks of the Rohirrim or the armor of Gondor. She felt… well, she wasn't even sure how she felt, and she was too tired to sort it all out. All she wanted was a minute of peace. She slid off her horse, giving the beast a well-deserved break, and let her eyes wander, trying not to focus on the devastation at her feet. Except there was nothing else. Everywhere she looked there was only death and exhaustion and sorrow and…

She couldn't have missed him if she'd tried. He was so far away that she could barely make him out, but he was unmistakable, like a bright light in a dim room, that tall, slender form and straight blond hair…

"Legolas?"

Her voice was hesitant, almost pleading, and not nearly loud enough, there was no way he had heard it, but she just needed this one thing, something to offset the pain in her head and the ache in her chest, this one good thing…

He turned toward her voice and something inside her cracked. He had heard her. He was looking straight at her, staring at her across this field of blood, and it was him, _really_ him, her best friend who had held her, comforted her, told her everything was going to be alright and made her believe it. And god, she had missed him, more than words or even thoughts could express. She started running, shouting now, no longer hesitant but desperate for something to remind her that everything was still okay, it was all going to be okay.

"Legolas! Legolas!"

He was running toward her too, stretching his long legs, leaping nimbly over and around anything in his path. Mel was so tired, but her feet were flying, determined to get to him, determined to have this _one good thing_.

They met in the middle of the field and Legolas snatched her out of the air midstride, burying his face in her neck as she threw her arms around him, laughing and sobbing at the same time as great gasping heaves of air burning her lungs. Everything she had felt in the weeks since she'd seen him last was pouring out of her all at once and her mind didn't know how to handle it, but it didn't matter, because he was here now, her best friend was here and everything was going to be okay, it was, it _really_ was.

Legolas clung to her with the same desperation she felt clawing out of her chest, muttering bursts of broken elvish in a shaking voice.

"Na vedui, Na vedui… channan ear adh in elin… gi channon… gi channon…"

She had no idea what it meant, she was just so happy to hear his voice, the voice that had so often pulled her out of darkness, more often than he even knew. When they finally let go Mel found that she couldn't stop touching him, making sure he was real, that she wasn't dreaming. Her hands fluttered over his face, his shoulders, his arms, and she couldn't stop giggling through her tears. He didn't try to stop her, just watched, his eyes roving over her, as if assessing every mark on her, falling first on her shortened hair and then lingering for a long moment on the scar that cut across her forehead. Mel sniffed and dropped her eyes, almost unconsciously tilting her head so her hair would fall across that place on her face.

"Oh mellon-nîn…" he breathed, softer than a whisper.

He cupped her face in his hand, brushing the hair back with his thumb as he brought her eyes up to meet his. He was smiling and his face seemed to glow with a gentle light.

"Don't you know that you are lovely?"

Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the place touched by her scar.

Time stopped. Literally.

Mel was aware of everything around her, but she couldn't move. Legolas didn't move. The world had gone eerily silent, as if Mel's ears had been stuffed with cotton. There was a pressure in the air, like the pause before a clap of thunder. Mel had only a fraction of a second to wonder what the hell was going on.

And then the thunder broke and a deep, black voice rumbled all around her, a voice she had only heard in dreams… Mandos' voice.

**"Now the choice is laid before you and the time approaches swiftly. You must choose, Calenhiril… a life for a life… Choose…"**

The voice faded away into the emptiness and, like someone had flipped a switch, time started up again.

Mel jerked back from Legolas like she'd been burned and stared at him for the longest time, watching his face transform in front of her, shocked, perplexed, concerned. He started speaking, but Mel couldn't make out his words through the roaring in her ears. Her brain was stuck on repeat, playing the dark words over and over again like a skipping track. She felt like she might drown in those words, like they were filling her lungs, she couldn't pull in enough air, her vision started to dim, and all she could think as she fell into darkness was, _not him… please… please god, not him…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations**   
>  _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_
> 
> Na vedui- At last (or Finally)
> 
> Channan ear adh in elin- Thank the sea and stars
> 
> Gi channon- Thank you
> 
> Mellon-nîn- my friend


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvish translations in hover text and at the bottom of the chapter :)

A quiet murmur of soft words slowly floated down through the blackness, coaxing Mel gently back to consciousness. When she opened her eyes, hovering over her was the last man on earth she had expected to see.

"Aragorn," she murmured.

Despite his tired eyes, the Ranger smiled kindly at her.

"Welcome back, Mel."

She felt such a sudden, overwhelming sense of relief that before she really knew what she was doing, she had sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck. The sudden gesture of affection caught him off guard, but once he'd caught his balance he returned it.

"I'm so glad you're alright," Mel whispered.

It was true. It bothered her how little thought she had given to Aragorn and what he had been through to get here. Seeing him now made her realize how glad she was that nothing she'd done had endangered him. At least he was safe. After a long moment, Aragorn disentangled himself from her hug and gently forced her to lie back down.

"I am glad to see you too, Mel. It is many long days since we walked under the golden leaves of Lothlorien. Much has happened to both of us; though I am sure you know much more of what has happened to me, than I do of what has happened to you."

A curtain pulled back and Loriel stepped inside, carrying a water pitcher. Mel glimpsed rows of cots in a large open room just outside the curtained wall and realized she was in the Houses of Healing, but for the life of her she couldn't remember why. Her brain felt fuzzy and thick, but she had the vague sense that something terrible had happened. Loriel's blinding smile and joyful exclamation prevented any other thoughts on the subject.

"Mel! Oh, I am so glad to see you awake!"

The girl set down her basin and knelt at Mel's side, clasping her hand to her chest.

"When they brought you in, I admit, I feared the worst! You were so pale and still…"

Loriel brushed a bit of Mel's hair back from her forehead and for some reason Mel flinched. Something in that gesture gave her a dark sense of foreboding. Something had happened… if she could only think…

"It was only exhaustion, I suspect," Aragorn said, rising from the floor beside Mel's cot, "Nothing a bit of rest won't cure. You managed to give Legolas quite a fright however. I'm expected to inform him of your recovery."

Mel barely heard the last of Aragorn's words through the ringing in her ears. A lead weight hit her gut and a thundering voice echoed in her memory…

… _choose, Calenhiril… choose…_

"Mel?"

Loriel put her hand to Mel's face and Mel flinched from the warmth of her fingers against her skin, staring at the wide-eyed girl for a few moments without speaking.

"Are you sure she'll be alright, my lord?" Loriel asked, glancing up at Aragorn, "She still seems pale."

Aragorn furrowed his brow as he met Mel's eyes, but when she did not speak, he only shook his head.

"I have done what I can, my lady," he said, "Try to make sure she stays abed awhile. She needs the rest."

Loriel squeezed Mel's hand affectionately.

"I will, my lord."

Aragorn inclined his head to her.

"Then I leave you in Lady Loriel's capable hands, Mel, until we meet again."

"Is Merry alright?"

The question surprised Mel nearly as much as it seemed to surprise Aragorn. Of all the things she might have said, this was the last that she had expected to escape her mouth. After only a moment of stunned silence, Aragorn smiled and shook his head.

"It is a strange thing to remember that you know so much without having to be told. Yes, I have seen to Merry and the Lady Eowyn with him. Their wounds are grievous, but in time they should recover."

It wasn't much, but it was somehow reassuring to know that not everything Mel had ever known was turning into a hopeless disaster. She felt some small knot of anxiety relax around her shoulder blades and she settled a little easier into her cot.

"Good… That's good."

Aragorn nodded once, and then swept out of the curtained room. Loriel stood to busy herself at the water pitcher and Mel sat up to properly take in her surroundings, if only to give her mind something else to occupy it besides that dark, echoing voice… The space was small but private, with thick white curtains on all sides, cutting her off from the room beyond. She was going to ask about that, but then she noticed that she had also been changed out of her filthy war clothes into a plain cotton gown, which made her think that she probably knew the answer to her question already, and was grateful.

Loriel handed Mel a glass of cool water and then lingered awkwardly beside the cot as Mel sipped at it.

"Mel?" she asked, once half the glass was gone, "Do you… feel better? What I mean is, are you feeling strong enough to take visitors? There are several that have been waiting to see you, some more impatiently than others."

… _you managed to give Legolas quite a fright…_

Mel felt suddenly sick. She tried to wrestle down a fit of panic, her chest contracting to the point that she wasn't sure she was going to be able to breathe. She wanted Boromir… but even that had her fighting back a wave of nausea. She was chilled, and her skin was on fire, and she was shaking so badly that water slopped all the way down her arm. Loriel quickly knelt and took the glass from her before she managed to spill even more, clasping Mel's shaking hand in her own.

"Oh dear Mel, do not trouble yourself," she said soothingly, "If you don't feel well enough, I will make them wait. I will tell them you are sleeping. It would probably be for the best, given your state."

Mel was tempted by Loriel's kind offer. How could she look at them, either of them, knowing that because of her one of them would… She couldn't even think it. The idea was inconceivable to her. She couldn't face it. She just couldn't.

On the other hand she knew, somewhere deep inside her, past the panic and the pain, that ignoring the situation wouldn't make it go away. It would only make things worse when the time came to… She swallowed. She was caught, afraid to see them, afraid to be away from them, just _afraid_. But she knew she couldn't sit in paralyzed fear forever. She had to make a decision.

So she did.

"It's okay, Loriel," she said, squeezing the girl's hand in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture, "I'm okay. I can see them."

The maid studied her face for a long moment, not looking very pleased, but finally she nodded and rose to her feet.

"I'll fetch them then."

She slipped out of the little curtained room, leaving Mel in what felt like an endless state of anxious waiting. Even though she was probably only gone a few minutes, it felt like hours. Mel tried not to fidget, her nerves making her stomach roll until she thought she might really be sick.

And then the first boisterous voice she heard dispelled her nerves almost immediately.

"About time! You would think the lass was dying!"

Gimli stuck his head through the curtain and gave her an uncertain side-eyed glance.

"You aren't dying, are you?" he muttered.

Mel managed to shake her head without bursting into a fit of relieved hysteria.

"No, not as far as I know."

"Well then! What are we all skulking about out here for?" he exclaimed, sweeping into the room, Mel's other visitors following in his wake.

The dwarf wasn't her only unexpected guest. Elladan popped in after him, Elrohir close on his heels, while Legolas and Boromir slipped in last and hovered in the background. Everyone was packed rather tightly into the tiny space, but Mel didn't care. She was so happy to see Gimli and the twins she thought her heart might burst.

"I have to admit, you were quite a sight, Mel, out on that battlefield," Gimli said, hooking his thumbs into his belt and puffing out his chest, "Made me proud, if you want to know the truth of it."

"What pride could you _possibly_ take in her battle prowess, Master Dwarf?" Elladan asked, his eyes sparkling mischievously, "If I recall, it was I that first taught this fine lady the sword."

"Oh Elladan, your sword!" Mel exclaimed, guiltily, "That beautiful sword, I lost it! I'm so sorry."

But Elladan only shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned.

"Don't concern yourself, mellon-nîn. It was Elrohir's sword anyway."

"Though that is completely untrue," Elrohir said, with a fondly irritated look at his brother, "I am sure I speak for both of us when I say, we would give all our possessions to see you safe and whole, vinimë."

He smiled fondly at her and inclined his head.

"Mae de 'ovannen, Mel," he said, his eyes twinkling brightly, "Gwannas lû and."

Mel tried desperately to remember back to those long ago afternoons in the gardens of Rivendell, when Elladan had run her through her paces and Elrohir had shouted Sindarin phrases in her ear.

"Suil adh galu," she said, "N'uir… thiad dhîn 'ell."

Elrohir's smile widened into a grin and he inclined his head again.

"Mae garnen," he said, "At least you remember some of what I taught you."

Mel grinned.

"I admit, I haven't had much practice."

"Perhaps there will be time still to see to your continued education."

"A little courtesy for the rest of us, if you please Master Elf!" Gimli huffed, his arms crossed and looking a bit put out, "It is considered rude, you know, to converse in tongues not understood by all in most polite company."

This started a round of banter that Mel had trouble keeping up with, her brain was so tired, but for a few moments she felt pleasantly content. She had missed this. She had been so worried, for so long, about so many different things, that she had forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded on all sides by people she loved.

Her gaze fell almost naturally on Boromir. But he wasn't laughing. He wasn't even looking at her. Instead his stony gaze was fixed on Legolas, who in turn was watching Mel with barely veiled concern. When she caught the elf's eye he smiled, but the expression never reached his intense gaze. Mel felt a knot forming in her stomach. Something about this was horribly out of place, something she was having trouble putting her finger on.

"And I will have you know!" Gimli shouted, bringing Mel's thoughts roughly back to the matter at hand, "There have been just as many fall to my axe as…"

"What is the meaning of this?"

Loriel came bursting through the curtains, and everyone in the room shuffled out of her way almost unconsciously.

"What an absolutely ruckus! Out! All of you! Out, out!"

The twins looked very sheepish as they were herded out by the servant girl half their size, but Gimli, true to form, crossed his arms and stood firmly right where he was.

"I will leave when it suits me, missy, and not a moment sooner!"

Mel was preparing herself to come to Loriel's rescue, but instead the girl crossed her own arms and stared fiercely down her nose at him.

"Master Dwarf, if I scream, there are more than enough able-bodied men just on the other side of this curtain willing to come to my rescue. Do not make me resort to desperate measures."

Mel waited for Gimli's smart-mouthed retort, but to Mel's amazement the dwarf hesitated, and then glanced at her, clearly unsure if he dared test the girl. Mel decided she should play it up.

"There are an awful lot of amped up soldiers out there, Gimli…"

Gimli's eyes flicked toward the partly open curtain, then back to Mel, then he harumphed and relaxed his stance, bowing dutifully in Loriel's direction.

"My lady, I will now part company with you."

He turned to Mel and patted her arm.

"I hope to see you fully recovered soon, Mel."

Then he marched out with as much dignity as he could muster. Only Boromir and Legolas remained. Loriel looked like she might tell them to go too, but Mel took the girl's arm and shook her head.

"It's okay, Loriel."

The girl glanced down at her skeptically, but then she nodded and slipped back outside.

There was a short pause. To Mel's surprise, Legolas spoke first.

"I never thought I would see Gimli moved by the threat of any woman but you, Mel."

He seemed to be making some sort of forced effort at joviality, but it didn't suit him. Boromir's scowl deepened, and Legolas continued to pointedly ignore it. Instead he took a few small steps in the direction of Mel's bedside, but his movements were hesitant, as if he expected her to lash out in some way. He stopped just a breath out of arm's reach, his hesitant smile still fixed to his face.

"Really, Mel, you are a fearsome presence, but that little maid might be a match even for you."

"No one is a match for her."

Boromir's voice was fierce and low, and made both Legolas and Mel jump. His eyes burned into the elf.

"No one."

Legolas met his glare with that same steady calm that Mel had always admired so much.

"No. No, of course not."

Mel didn't know what to do. She hadn't been expecting this, this thick tension that felt like it was pressing down on her chest. Where had it come from? And how was she supposed to handle it when she was already…? She started to feel that familiar swell of panic, her head spinning, her breath shallow…

Boromir happened to drop his gaze to her face then and his expression changed in an instant, the angry fire in his eyes disappearing, his brow creased with worry.

"Melody?"

He was at her side faster than a blink, his hand holding hers, his fingers brushing back her hair, resting on her cheek.

"You're so pale," he murmured, "What do you need? What can I do?"

The pressure in her chest loosened and she managed to take a deep breath. She loved him. She _really_ loved him. She swallowed and managed a weak smile.

"Nothing. I'm okay."

Now that her panic had passed, she finally got her first good look at Boromir. His eyes were ringed by dark circles and she could still see streaks where he had hastily wiped orc blood from his face. She sat up a little, a new sort of worry taking over.

"Have you slept at all?"

Boromir seemed to consider his words very carefully.

"I… have not had the time…"

"You have time now," Mel said sharply, "You look awful."

Legolas snorted, and Mel shot him his own stern look.

"Don't get cocky, elf-prince. You don't look that great either."

That shut him up. He opened his mouth once, closed it, and then tried again.

"We were… we were very worried, Mel, after…"

"Well, you can see now that I'm perfectly fine," she said, cutting him off, "You guys on the other hand look about ready to…"

She stopped short. She couldn't believe what she had almost said. It had been on the tip of her tongue.

… _ready to drop dead…_

She was going to throw up. Boromir and Legolas stood on either side of her, waiting for her to finish her sentence, but she couldn't. She couldn't breathe. She tried to pull it together, but she couldn't remember what she had been talking about. All she could remember was that awful voice.

… _choose, Calenhiril… choose…_

"Melody?" Boromir murmured softly.

She looked up at him and made herself take a breath. He was so tired. They both were. They needed to be resting, not hovering over her.

"I'm sorry," she managed to rasp out, "I'm… I'm just tired."

Boromir nodded.

"Of course, we will let you sleep."

He gave Legolas a pointed look. Legolas nodded.

"Yes, of course."

Mel's eyes were still on Legolas, when Boromir leaned down and softly kissed her temple. A flurry of surprise, confusion, and, most startling, concern flew over her friend's face, all in the flash of a moment before he managed to school his features and avert his eyes. She couldn't understand any of it. Her thoughts felt like they had been coated in thick, sticky syrup. Was he worried that Boromir had kissed her in such a public place? Was it something else? Was it something… worse?

_Don't you know that you are lovely?_

No… That couldn't be it. Legolas was her friend, her best friend. There was nothing…

Mel looked up at Boromir and saw his eyes boring into Legolas. She finally took the time to understand what that meant. No matter what the truth of things was Boromir had seen something, something to make him angry. But there was so much rushing through her mind that Mel didn't know where to start. She couldn't sort through it all. She was just so tired.

"You need only call for me," Boromir murmured in her ear.

At first Mel nodded absently, but then his words sank in.

"No!"

The other two jumped and Mel calmed her voice.

"No. You guys go, get some sleep. Loriel's here, I'll be fine."

Boromir looked like he might argue, but Mel gave him her best, 'don't even try it' glare and he quickly seemed to change his mind.

"Very well," he said, "But I will be back as soon as I am able."

Mel nodded. Boromir turned to leave, but Legolas hesitated, letting his blue eyes roam slowly over her face. Mel didn't know what he was looking for, but he didn't get the chance to find it. Boromir turned back at the curtain, locking him with another burning glare.

"Legolas."

The elf gave Mel one last searching glance, and then reluctantly followed Boromir through the curtain. Once they had left, Mel wondered if she should have said something to her friend. But what should she have said? What could she say? Her mind was in a fog of exhaustion and fear. She was so lost. She didn't know what to do. So she did the only thing she could do. She rolled over into her pillow and cried until she fell asleep.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations**   
>  _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_
> 
> mellon-nîn- my friend
> 
> vinimë (quenya)- little one
> 
> Mae de 'ovannen- Well met
> 
> Gwannas lû and- It's been too long.
> 
> Suil adh galu- Greetings and blessings
> 
> N'uir thiad dhîn 'ell- Ever is your presence a joy
> 
> Mae garnen- Well done


	20. Chapter 20

When Mel woke up, she felt much calmer. It was as if her mind had settled while she slept and now she was ready to face the task of sorting through her ever-growing list of problems. The first thing she did was sit up and take a deep breath. Then she took the choice that Mandos had placed before her, and locked it away. It was hard. It loomed over her, large and dark, but she managed to force it into a little box in her mind and shut the lid. It was still a big deal, she wasn't denying it, but it was a big deal that couldn't be decided right now, and there were more pressing issues that needed her immediate attention.

Legolas.

Upon careful consideration, Mel could not deny the possibility that his affection for her might have somehow molded into something she wasn't expecting. She didn't want to believe that was true, but Boromir clearly thought there was a problem, and she needed to address his feelings too. Someone needed to talk to both of them and sort the whole thing out, once and for all, and that someone was going to have to be her. She just hoped neither of them had done anything too stupid in the meantime.

She sighed and ran both hands through her hair, trying to think. She needed to talk to Legolas alone and figure out what was going on, something that wasn't going to be easy without explaining things to Boromir first. Which would require her to be alone with Boromir, which probably wasn't going to be that much easier. And she'd already wasted so much time…

She was wracking her brain for the best way to approach the situation without any hurt feelings, when Loriel's head bobbed silently through the curtain of Mel's room. Seeing Mel awake and sitting up, the girl grinned and slipped inside, setting a tray on the table beside the cot.

"I brought you some breakfast," she said cheerily.

Breakfast. So it was morning. But morning of what day?

"How long did I sleep?" Mel asked.

"Through the night," Loriel said, "It is still early. The sun has not yet risen."

Mel felt a little relief. She couldn't have slept too long then. She still had time to handle this. However her mind was wiped clean of all rational thought when Loriel lifted the lid on the tray. A sweet smell drifted to her nose and all she could think about was how hungry she was. Loriel set the tray on the bed. There was a bowl of steaming porridge, an apple, and a glass of juice.

"Master Peregrin was insistent about the apple," Loriel said.

Mel took a moment to savor a spoonful of the sweet porridge before she replied.

"Pippin was here?"

"For a little while. He has been flitting back and forth between your bedside and that of his friend, Meriadoc."

"How is Merry?"

"He recovers well, though it will be a long while before he fully regains his strength."

"I'd like to see him," Mel said wistfully.

Loriel smiled.

"I think he would like that as well. He has asked about you. If he were not so weak, I believe he would have come himself. He might have come anyway, to his detriment, were he not… deterred by the healers."

Mel thought she could imagine how that had worked out. Fiery little Merry, being held down by healers twice his size and fighting for all he was worth. She grinned, and hurried to finish her breakfast. She had a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in.

When she was done, she swung her legs out of bed and stood, immediately gritting her teeth to keep from crying out. Every tiny bit of her ached, but she fought it down and kept a straight face. If Loriel noticed she was a little ginger changing into her fresh blue gown, the maid never said.

They slipped through the curtains and Mel followed Loriel into the corridors of the Houses of Healing. There was a quietness to the place that struck her as eerie. There were moans and painful cries, but it all seemed muffled. Everywhere she looked there were men on stretchers and cots attended by calm, patient healers, and Mel walked through it in a haze, but then something caught her eye and froze her in her tracks. Loriel noticed that she wasn't following and came back, looking where Mel's gaze had fallen. She nodded her head in understanding.

"He lost a leg," she said, quietly but with no hint of gentleness, "He will recover, but he will be unable to serve."

Mel's eyes raked over the still form of Vanion lying on a cot in one of the main rooms, a noticeable vacancy under the blanket where his right leg should have been.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice absent any emotion.

"He fought during one of the last assaults on the wall. An orc cut through the leg right to the bone. We thought he might not survive, but your friend's healing powers are great, like the elven lords of old."

It took a minute for Mel to realize Loriel meant Aragorn. The girl didn't know who he was, of course, he hadn't revealed himself to anyone. Mel felt a stab of irrational anger that Aragorn had treated Vanion at all, but she immediately quelled it. Aragorn had no way of knowing anything about Vanion or her history with him. And even if he had, he would have treated him anyway because no one should have to die unnecessarily, not even Vanion. And as Mel looked at him, lying so still and pale on that dingy cot, she realized she didn't feel anything. Not anger, not hate, nothing. It was as if she knew him only in passing. He seemed so small and unimportant now, hardly worth her notice. She turned away and Loriel gave her a searching glance, before she also turned away.

They reached a small room at the end of one of the halls and Loriel knocked gently before poking her head inside.

"Master Meriadoc, you have a visitor."

"It better well be somebody to let me out of this place! This isn't a healing house, it's a prison!"

Loriel pulled her head back and rolled her eyes, which made Mel have to stifle a giggle. The servant girl pushed the door open while Merry was still ranting and Mel walked in. Pippin jumped to his feet, his face shining.

"Mel!"

However Merry barely paused in his tirade.

"Mel! It's about time! I was going to come see you, you know, but these people won't let me leave the bed! Too weak, they say! Can you believe that?"

"Yes, Meriadoc Brandybuck, I can," Mel said, crossing her arms and doing her best to look stern, "And frankly, I am appalled at your behavior."

Merry's eyes went wide. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out.

"How can you treat the healers like this, fighting and raving like a lunatic? No wonder they won't let you out of bed, you cause havoc wherever you go."

"But, I…"

"No buts!" Mel said, "Now you are to do whatever these people tell you, and no exceptions, got it?"

Merry's eyes fell to his hands, bunched up in his sheets, and when he looked up again, he looked very young and scared. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible.

"Mel, I… you don't understand. They want me to _sleep_ , and I…" He swallowed hard, "I can't. I just keep seeing… these horrible things. I see him. His eyes, burning at me. I can't…"

Mel's heart melted. She sank down onto the bed and put her arms around him, running her fingers through his curly hair.

"I know," she murmured, "I know, Merry. I'm here. Tell me what happened."

He did. The words seemed to fall out of his mouth of their own volition, sometimes getting muddled or mixed up, but Mel listened as he told her everything that had happened to him, about the ride of the Rohirrim, about feeling so small, about the fear and the blood and the terror. He talked about the Witch-king in a whisper, as if he were afraid he might still hear him somehow.

"What could I do?" he asked, "What could I do that Lady Eowyn couldn't? It was stupid what I did."

"No it wasn't," Mel said, still holding him and stroking his hair, "It was very brave, Merry. You saved her life. You saved all of us."

Merry looked up at her with innocent eyes.

"You really think so?"

She smiled.

"I know so. I'm sort of an expert, remember?"

A throat cleared and they both looked up, startled. Loriel was standing in the doorway, looking abjectly apologetic.

"I'm so sorry, Mel. But your presence has been requested."

Mel nodded and squeezed Merry's shoulders.

"Will you be alright?"

He sniffed and wiped his nose.

"Yeah, I'll be alright."

He was lying, but she let him get away with it. He needed to work through everything on his own. She leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"I'll come see you later."

"I'll keep an eye on him!" Pippin said enthusiastically, appearing at his cousin's bedside.

Mel rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure you will. Try not to cause too much trouble, okay?"

She and Loriel left the two hobbits and began the walk back through the Houses of Healing. Once they were safely out of earshot, Mel leaned in to whisper in Loriel's ear.

"Who's asking for me?"

"Mithrandir has convened with some of the other lords in the throne room. They ask for your guidance."

Mel didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, she was thrilled to be included. This was a big deal, when the decision would be made to march on Mordor. But on the other hand, she didn't see what good she could do. She had no advice to offer them other than what they would do if she weren't there at all. And with Legolas and Boromir there, she would be in no fit state to offer wise advice. But she couldn't very well pass up the opportunity, and she needed to find a way to talk to them somehow. That was very important.

Loriel ushered Mel into the throne room, and then promptly bowed out.

"Ah, there she is, at last!" Gimli said, brandishing a smoking pipe, reclining on the steps of the white throne, "Now we can get on with it!"

Gandalf smiled and took her elbow, leading her into the small circle of people gathered around the thrones of Gondor.

"How are you feeling, Mel?"

She looked up into his wise, kind eyes, and she knew he was trying to ask about more than just her physical pains. He knew. He knew about the choice. She couldn't explain how, but she could tell. She really wanted to be angry at him for knowing and not warning her, to somehow blame him for what was happening, for the unfairness of it, but she couldn't really bring herself to feel it. He could no more have helped her than helped a river flow to the sea. It had to come in its own time. She smiled, though a little weakly.

"I feel much better, thank you."

It wasn't a lie, but she could feel Gandalf scrutinizing her nonetheless. She was in pain and she was sure it showed on her face. She turned from his prying eyes and was met with a sight that was somehow much worse. Boromir and Legolas stood together across the room, arms crossed over their chests, both staring at her with burning intensity.

Those stares were more than she could handle so she turned away again, trying to focus on the others in the room instead. The man she had guessed as Eomer looked surprised to see her, openly staring across the room. He must have recognized her from the battlefield, but Mel could not imagine how. Aragorn was there too and he gave her a small nod, while the twins at his back both grinned broadly at her. She managed to return their smiles, feeling a little better for having at least seen them.

Gandalf slipped away from her, his eyes suddenly gazing into a space that only he could see.

"Frodo has passed beyond my sight," he murmured, almost to himself, "The darkness is deepening."

"If Sauron had the Ring, we would know it," Aragorn said, his jaw set stubbornly.

Gandalf turned to him, his face soft and sad.

"It is only a matter of time. He has suffered a defeat, yes, but behind the walls of Mordor our enemy is regrouping."

"Let him stay there," Gimli said, puffing on his pipe, "Let him rot! Why should we care?"

"Because ten thousand orcs now stand between Frodo and Mount Doom!" Gandalf snapped, but his irritation quickly waned, his expression drooping helplessly, "I've sent him to his death…"

Mel had said she wouldn't interfere, but Gandalf had moved close to her again and he looked so sad. She reached out and touched the wizard's arm hesitantly. He blinked and looked at her. She smiled and squeezed his shoulder in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"No," Aragorn said, pulling back their focus, "There is still hope for Frodo. He needs time and safe passage across the Plains of Gorgoroth. We can give him that."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" Boromir asked, his voice stern and flat.

Aragorn turned to him, his face unmoving in its determination.

"Draw out Sauron's armies."

Boromir rolled his eyes, but Aragorn kept on, moved by his conviction.

"Empty his lands! We gather our full strength and march on the Black Gate."

"The Black Gate?" Boromir snapped, "You expect to storm the gates of Mordor with no more than the men in this city? We barely held our own lands, we cannot sustain an invasion!"

"Not an invasion…" Mel murmured.

"…a diversion."

Legolas' soft voice drew Mel's eye. He was smiling at her. Mel couldn't help it. A smile tugged her lips before she caught herself and looked away. Boromir's expression was black.

"We can give Frodo his chance if we keep Sauron's Eye fixed upon us," Aragorn said, moving toward Gandalf, who still did not look fully convinced, "Keep him blind to all else that moves."

"This is madness!" Boromir exclaimed, "Melody, tell them! This is suicide!"

Everyone turned and looked at Mel. She hadn't wanted to get involved in this. She had wanted to let it go as it should. But she no longer had that choice. She had to say something. She met Gandalf's eyes and held them.

"It'll work."

Boromir scoffed and she whirled on him, her expression rigid with anger and indignation.

"It won't be easy. It won't be safe. But it _will_ work."

Boromir glared at her for a brief moment and then seemed to realize what he was doing and looked away, his jaw clenched. Mel tried to control the anger she could feel boiling just beneath her skin. It wasn't her fault he didn't like her answer. If he hadn't wanted to know, he shouldn't have asked.

"Certainty of death, small chance of success," Gimli stood up and took another puff on his pipe, "What are we waiting for?"

There was not much else to discuss after that. Mel left Aragorn and Gandalf conferring softly and tried to make a beeline for Legolas, who looked like he was just itching to talk to her too, but Boromir grabbed her arm as she swept by.

"I need to speak to you."

Mel felt a stab of petty fury that almost made her tell him to shove it until she saw his face. He didn't look angry anymore, but whatever he had to say seemed urgent. She glanced at Legolas, but Gimli had grabbed his attention for a moment. She turned back.

"Okay."

Boromir adjusted his grip on her arm and lead her away at a very quick pace. Mel nearly had to break into a jog to keep up. Once they were clear of the doors and out in the courtyard, Mel felt free to speak.

"Look, if this is about what I said…"

"You said what was necessary," Boromir interrupted her, his pace slowed nearly to a stop now, "I should not have put you in a situation where it was necessary for you to speak your mind so. I apologize."

Mel stared at him. That had been… easy. She struggled for words for a second.

"Oh… Okay then. Apology accepted."

She waited. There could only be one other reason they were out here, and she thought maybe she better let Boromir speak first. It took a moment before he found his voice again.

"I would like you to know," he said hesitantly, "I… bear no ill will, toward anyone. Legolas is a good man, and I know that you care about him."

Mel stopped walking, forcing Boromir to stop too and look up from his boots.

"I do care about him," she said, "I care about him very much."

She watched Boromir's face fall, but she kept talking. It was important that he hear all of this, that he understand what was going on.

"He is my best friend, Boromir. He was there when I felt most alone. I will always care about him."

She touched Boromir's cheek and he raised his sad, gray eyes to hers. She smiled.

"But I love you. I've always loved you. The only reason I'm here, right now, is because I love you. I feel no different about you than I did last night, or the night before, or months ago back in Rivendell."

His face transformed in an instant, relief softening his features.

"I… I thought… On the Pelennor…"

Mel felt her chest contract and she heard that voice again, echoing in her head.

… _choose, Calenhiril…_

Mel forced it back into its box. She had to focus.

"I need to speak to Legolas. Alone."

Boromir's expression hardened.

"I do not think that would be wise."

"A lot has happened since the last time we saw him," Mel said, in as calm and rational a voice as she could manage, "To him, to us. We have a lot to talk about. And if something has changed, I need to know, for sure, not just try to guess, or worse, ignore it."

"Melody…"

"You said it yourself, he's a good man, Boromir. You don't have to worry."

Boromir closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath. Finally, he nodded.

"Very well. As always, it is pointless to argue with you. You will do what you will, with or without my blessing."

She smiled and took his hand.

"Thank you."

He opened his eyes and smiled reluctantly, then leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"I will leave you. He should be out soon."

Mel did something then that she was sure would probably be frowned upon in polite society around here. She grabbed his tunic, pulled him toward her, and kissed him hard. Though it surprised him, Boromir managed to pull himself together and kiss her back, briefly but passionately.

"I love you," he breathed in her ear.

Mel shivered, but he was already gone, walking out of the courtyard just as the doors to the throne room opened and Legolas came out, glancing around anxiously. Mel smiled and raised her hand when he spotted her. His smile was radiant as he jogged down the stairs and across the courtyard toward her.

"I wondered where you had gone," he said, as he reached out and took her hand, cupping her face with the other, "How are you feeling?"

Mel smiled, but she took the hand at her face and pulled it away.

"Better. But we need to talk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of slow. I promise more stuff will happen next chapter. Seriously. So. Much. Stuff.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact: These next two chapters are so closely intertwined, that I could not possibly fathom posting them on different days.  
> Result: You guys get two chapters today! Enjoy!

To Mel's relief, Legolas didn't argue with her or try to dissuade her. He had clearly been anticipating this conversation. Together they walked out by the wall of the Citadel and sat on a stone bench facing out over the city. He made sure to sit a safe distance from her, still holding both her hands in his, but making sure that was all of them that touched.

Mel launched into her story without preamble, starting with her decision to follow them out of Lothlorien. She told him everything, leaving out only the choice that the Valar had given her. It didn't seem fair to burden him with something that was clearly a decision she would have to make on her own. It would do nothing but make a difficult conversation worse.

She felt comfortable telling him the story. He listened without interruption, only his face betraying his emotions, shifting constantly as her story unfolded. She was sure to tell him how much she had missed him, but also careful to make her feelings for Boromir clear. She tried to tell it objectively, as she would have told it to anyone else, shying away from nothing. It felt natural to talk to Legolas like this. It was no different from any conversations they'd had in the past. In fact, she got so engrossed in telling the story that she briefly forgot why she was having the conversation in the first place, until…

"…and then he kissed me and I…"

Legolas' hands slipped from hers and Mel felt the absence sharply. She stopped and let her eyes refocus. For the first time, his face was smooth and empty, completely void of expression. She had never seen him like that. It was like a stab in her chest.

"You really love him don't you?"

His voice was carefully neutral. It sounded strange in Mel's ears. She nodded.

"I do. I really do. And he loves me too."

"How do you know?"

Mel stared, a little dumbstruck. Legolas was searching her face, his eyes carefully hiding whatever he was thinking. It made Mel cautious.

"How do I know what?

"How do you know that he loves you?"

Mel's mind stumbled over the question. What was that supposed to mean?

"I… I just know."

Legolas sighed and shut his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose absently.

"Mel, please don't misunderstand me. I know that he cares about you. That much is clear, it always has been. But… does he love you? After everything that has been done and said…"

"That wasn't him!" Mel said, sounding slightly more panicked than she had intended. She took a breath and reined herself in, "That wasn't him. It was the Ring. The Ring made him like that."

"Mel…"

His voice was gentle, but chiding as he took her hand in his. Mel jerked away. A knot was forming in her throat. This wasn't supposed to be happening. This couldn't be happening.

"Mel, please believe me, I don't blame Boromir for those things. His actions since that time have more than redeemed him."

He brushed his fingers against her cheek.

"I will never be able to express my gratitude toward him for keeping you safe," he murmured, "Never."

Mel backed out of his touch and stood up to get some breathing space. This wasn't how she had wanted this conversation to go. She had wanted his acceptance, even joy or well-wishes. In the worst of scenarios, she might have been prepared for some hurt feelings, anger, maybe grief. But not this… this denial of everything she had told him, of everything that had happened, this questioning doubt. She wasn't prepared for this.

"I love him," she said, fists clenched as if they could hold down her panic.

"I know you do," Legolas said, standing and taking a tentative step toward her, "But Mel, has he always returned that love? Have you always felt, without any doubt, that he loved you?"

He was right and Mel hated that he was right. She hadn't always been so sure that Boromir loved her. In fact, most of her time in Middle Earth had been spent in agonizing uncertainty, wondering if all she felt, all she'd done, was for nothing. But now…

"Do you remember Lothlorien?"

Mel's thoughts stumbled again over the sudden change in topic and she stared at Legolas, who was watching her with careful intensity.

"Do you remember what I said to you there, on the banks of the Anduin?"

Mel blinked and tried to think.

"Something… Something in Elvish," she said, "Sindarin, I think. I didn't understand it."

He smiled.

"Yes, and I told you to ask me again when next we met. Do you know what I said to you that day?"

Mel shook her head, and Legolas took another deliberate step forward. He was very close to her now. He took both her hands in his.

"Uiradathon angin, mellon-nîn," he said, still smiling softly, "It means that I will always find you, Mel. And now that I have kept that promise, I will never lose you again."

Oh god… His eyes… Did that mean…? Mel felt as if all the air was being squeezed out of her chest. This couldn't be happening. She had to fix this, before… She pulled herself away again.

"No," she said, trying not to gasp for air, "No, you don't understand. Legolas, I care about you, I do. There have been so many times that I thought about you, worried about you, wished I could see you and talk to you, but Legolas I love him, you know that, you said it yourself…"

"I know."

"Then why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He was slipping away from her. The longer this went on the further he would get, until there was no way to get him back again. She didn't know how much time they had left, but now she was terrified that she would lose him before she was ever even given her choice.

"I just want my friend back," she whispered, "I've missed you, and I just want you back."

Legolas' expression softened into a frown, but before he could do or say anything, someone cleared their throat, making Mel jump. A boy stood behind them, looking uncomfortable. She wondered how long he had been standing there.

"Lady Melody, please forgive me. I wouldn't have interrupted, but Lord Hurin has summoned you to the main gates. He said it was urgent, my lady."

The Sentries. Suddenly Mel's quarrel with Legolas, if she could call it that, faded into the background of her mind, replaced with worry and guilt. She swallowed and nodded to the boy.

"Of course, I'll come immediately."

She turned a sharp eye back to Legolas, who looked thoroughly confused.

"We'll talk about this later."

She rushed out of the courtyard, leaving the boy scrambling to catch up with her. She had given the elf something to think about and for now, that was enough. Once he'd had time to digest what she had said, he would understand. He would. He had to.

The messenger finally caught up and led her down the streets toward the front gate. As they descended the levels, the scars of war became more and more apparent. Men were at work clearing the roads of debris, sweeping piles of rubble hastily to the side and into corners. Some were salvaging what they could from the broken and burned remnants of what had once been homes. There was a determined hush over the work. Everyone went about their tasks in stalwart silence, speaking in gruff tones only when spoken to and even then as little as possible. It was hard for Mel not to rush past at a run. The silence made her uncomfortable.

They finally reached the first level and Mel could see that work to repair the gates had already begun. Scaffolding had been erected and men were trying to beat the metal plates back into place with sledge hammers. Lord Hurin was standing in the courtyard overseeing the project, but when he saw Mel approaching he raised his hand to stop the work and rushed over.

"I am glad to see you so well recovered, Lady Melody," he said, and he seemed to genuinely mean it, "When they brought you from the field, I feared the worst."

Mel was surprised by his kindness. That he might have been concerned about her well-being had not even occurred to her.

"Thank you, my lord," she managed to say, "It was nothing really, just exhaustion I'm told."

He nodded gravely.

"Yes, it was a long, dark night, for you especially I am sure."

Mel would have been offended if his eyes had not strayed to the charred fragments of the Sentries that still clung to the gates. He wasn't talking about any lack of strength, he was talking about the strength she had given up.

"How are…" She paused and rephrased, "How is he?"

"That is why I sent for you. I was unsure how we should proceed. The gate must be repaired, but…"

He hesitated.

"I ordered that they not be touched," he said finally, "I thought it might be best to wait for your guidance."

Mel was touched by this small thoughtfulness, for her and for the Sentries. She would never have expected it, least of all from Hurin. Her voice was quiet and on the verge of breaking when she spoke.

"Thank you, my lord. How long do I have?"

Hurin's eyes softened in sympathy.

"Take all the time you need, my lady."

He walked away, motioning for the men on the scaffolding to follow, leaving the gates empty. Mel took a deep breath, before she made her way forward, stepping around the scaffolding and standing in the gap that opened out onto the decimated plains of the Pelennor. She closed her eyes and searched out that small light that was still linked to her by a single golden thread, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't even know what to call him, the poor lonely creature that lay shattered outside these metal doors. She didn't want to call him Sentry. That seemed too cold, too painful, too reminiscent of what he'd lost. But he knew nothing else. That was all he had ever been. What could she say?

_"Calenhiril?"_

His whispering voice floated up into her thoughts and she let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

 _"I'm sorry I was away for so long,"_ she said, _"What can I do to help you?"_

She felt a shudder run through her that was not entirely of her own making.

_"They are rebuilding the gate."_

_"Yes,"_ she said, _"They have to."_

She felt, rather than heard, him sigh.

_"Yes. It is necessary. He will have to be moved."_

This time it was only Mel who shuddered. She had wanted to keep the conversation from taking this turn, but it seemed they were already there. She opened her eyes and glanced right. The black, brittle remains of the unmoving Sentry made her stomach roll. It was her fault. It was her fault that this had happened. And now all she could do was try to make it bearable.

_"Yes. What can I do? How can I help?"_

There was a painful pause.

_"Just… Don't let him be burned anymore."_

Mel got a flash, a vision, an old and withered trunk being chopped into pieces and thrown into a wagon, firewood. She felt a shiver of horror from the remaining Sentry.

 _"I won't let that happen. I'll do everything in my power,"_ she assured him, _"Is there nothing I can do for you?"_

She gathered up a handful of the light inside of her, that green flickering orb that throbbed in time to her pulse, and reached out to him, but he shied away.

 _"No,"_ he said, _"No, Calenhiril, you are still weak and the path that lies before you is long and dark. I will heal in my own way."_

Mel retracted her offer respectfully. She understood the need to heal in your own way.

 _"I don't even know your name,"_ she said weakly.

He seemed to ponder that for a while. Mel realized that it was probably painful and she immediately regretted bringing it up, but when he spoke again he didn't sound upset.

_"You may tell them to call me Andonil."_

" _Andonil?"_ Mel didn't recognize it, _"What does it mean?"_

_"It is symbol of my loyalty. The Son of Gondor will know. Tell him, Calenhiril. Tell him Andonil stands watch."_

Mel still didn't understand, but she supposed she didn't have to. She just nodded, and then broke their connection. She didn't want Andonil to be attached to her as she did what was necessary. He would mourn his brother in his own way, while she took care of the arrangements. She knew what needed to be done, if not for Andonil's sake then for her own.

She carefully picked her way back through the scaffolding. There was still no movement. All the men that had been working on the gate's repair were standing in a wide semicircle around the courtyard, watching and waiting. Lord Hurin hurried forward and took her elbow gently.

"Are you well, Lady Melody? You look pale."

He sounded so concerned that Mel actually took a moment to consider how she felt. She was still a little queasy, but she pushed that aside. She had to do this. It had to be her and it had to be today.

"Yes," she said, pulling free of Lord Hurin's gentle grip, "I'm fine."

"What did he say?" he asked in a hushed voice, glancing nervously behind her like he expected Andonil to come bursting through the broken gate at any moment, all writhing branches and blind fury. How very wrong he was.

"He's in pain," she said, "His injuries were severe, but he will recover. His brother…"

Her voice cracked a little and she paused to gather herself.

"His brother will have to be moved."

"I will arrange to have the men…"

"No!"

The force of Mel's voice made Lord Hurin take a surprised step back. Mel carefully toned it down a few notches.

"No. I'll take care of it."

Now he looked skeptical.

"My lady, I am not entirely sure that would be the best thing in your current state…"

"I said I'll do it," she snapped, "No one is to touch them without my express permission. _No one_ , got it?"

Lord Hurin still looked unconvinced.

"My lady, if I may, what exactly are you planning to do?"

Mel looked back at the burned bits of wood that still clung to the bent gates.

"I'm going to bury him," she murmured, "He deserves it."

She gave the lord a glare that dared him to challenge her, but to her surprise, his expression of disbelief had melted away into soft compassion. He nodded.

"Very well. What do you require of us, my lady?"

If Mel hadn't felt so overwhelmed with the sorrow of her task, she might have smiled. She thought carefully about what she would need.

"A shovel for sure. And a wagon."

Lord Hurin snapped his fingers and two of the men standing by ran to his side.

"Get a wagon from the stables, find shovels and axes…"

"No axes."

Lord Hurin raised an eyebrow, but Mel stood firm.

"No axes. We're not chopping him up."

For a moment she thought he might finally argue, but instead he just turned back to the men. Lord Hurin was full of surprises today.

"Very well, no axes, but we will need some rope. And bring an extra pair of stout horses. It seems we will be pulling him out of the ground."

The two men looked at each other skeptically, but they hurried to obey just the same. Mel pushed up the sleeves on her gown.

"I need to clean him up."

She sounded more confident than she actually felt, trying to steel herself against the revulsion she could feel burning the back of her throat. She tried to tell herself it was just like trimming a bush or weeding a garden, but none of that rang true. This wasn't just a bush or a garden, or even _just_ a tree. This was one of the Sentries. He had been brave and strong and loyal, with thoughts and feelings that Mel herself had experienced. And now he was dead. And she was going to have to bury his body.

Lord Hurin looked like he might say something kind or comforting, but she turned her back on him and headed toward the gate. She had to do this. She had to do it before she lost her nerve, or her mind, or started crying. She couldn't cry. She strode through the gate and turned sharply right.

There he was. Mel didn't pause. She bunched up her skirt in one hand and stepped gingerly past the charred twigs that littered the ground, reaching out and touching what was left of the complex lattice work that had covered the gates of Minas Tirith. The branches cracked under her touch, disintegrating in black puffs of soot. She jerked her hand back and stared at her blackened palm. She could feel the burning, the pain…

She pressed on, carefully following the line of the wall, searching for where the trunk began through all the lattice work of branches. Everything was black, and brittle, and no matter where she put her hands or feet bits of charred wood broke and crumbled, covering her in soot and ash. She could feel the heat of the fire, hear the ringing of the metal, the screams of the men dying on the wall, the screams of the Sentries as the fire roared through them, licking its way over their leaves and branches, the crushing force as Grond struck again and again…

She couldn't see. Her vision was a blur. She stumbled over a fallen branch, the arm of what had once been a great warrior, and landed in the blackened earth. She couldn't see because she was crying, tears streaking down her face. She pressed against the blackened trunk of the dead Sentry, gagging out strangled sobs against the soot and ash floating in the air.

"I'm sorry…" she choked, "I'm sorry…"

"Melody?"

Boromir's soft, gentle voice attempted to bring her back, to remind her that there were people here and they were watching her. But she couldn't, she couldn't leave him. She heard the thump of boots as Boromir drew closer and she pressed further into the trunk of the tree, not wanting to face anything yet. She was crying over a tree. No one was going to understand that. There were many good men who had died defending this city. What difference did one tree make to anyone but her?

Boromir settled on the ground beside her, but he didn't touch her. Gradually Mel's sobs settled into sniffs, but she didn't look up. Not yet. She couldn't leave the Sentry alone. This was her fault…

"His life was not in vain, Melody," Boromir said softly, "Nor will it be forgotten. Generations from now, songs will echo through these streets, in the halls and taverns, of the night the trees held the gates and the bravery of the Sentries of the White City."

Mel still didn't move. Boromir reached out and pressed his hand to the trunk of the tree.

"I know we cannot mourn him as you do. But we _will_ mourn him, in our way. You need not carry this burden alone. Please, Melody, let us help you."

His hand slipped down and took one of Mel's, gently tugging her until she was facing him, though still nestled in the tree trunk.

"Let me help you," he whispered.

A weight that Mel hadn't even known she carried lifted from her soul. She believed him. Boromir would not let her Sentry's sacrifice be forgotten. It wasn't in vain. It meant something. She didn't have to carry his memory alone. She wiped her face with the back of her free hand. It came away grimy and black. She took a shuddering breath, but quickly steadied herself.

"Help me up, Boromir."

He pulled her to her feet. Then together they prepared the Sentry of Minas Tirith for a hero's burial.


	22. Chapter 22

They spent the rest of the day clearing debris and preparing the Sentry for transport. It was hard work and tedious. Mel hovered over every step of the process, demanding gentle hands and careful extraction of what was left of the burned trunk. There wasn't much, about five feet above ground with limbs still attached, but what was there was precious to Mel. She was sure that the men doing the work were probably exasperated with her to say the least, but to her surprise not one of them said a word about it. They worked hard under her scrutinizing guidance without a single sound of complaint, moving reverently around the decimated remains of the tree that had defended them through their darkest night. Boromir appeared to have been right. The Men of Gondor mourned the Sentry's loss in their own way. It was a comforting thought.

Finally, in the late afternoon, they were ready. The loose branches had all been cleared away and loaded into the wagon. A deep trench had been dug all the way around, down to the roots, and ropes had been looped around the trunk. A team of horses stood ready, waiting for the order to pull. This would be tricky. Not enough force and the tree wouldn't budge, but too much and the brittle wood might split.

Everyone stopped and looked at Mel, waiting for her order. She walked over everything, checking the ropes, inspecting the trench, looking for weak spots. But she had already done this three times and she knew there was nothing else to check. She was only stalling. To the everlasting credit of the Men of Gondor, not one person showed any signs of impatience. She made one final pass, and then sighed. There was only one thing left to do.

_"Andonil?"_

She felt the tree stir, felt the emotions that rolled through him when he looked at his brother. Mel set her jaw so she wouldn't cry again.

 _"We're ready,"_ she said, _"Is there anything you need, anything else I can do?"_

Andonil hesitated.

_"Where will you take him?"_

Lord Hurin had actually made that arrangement. There was a grove of trees to the west of the city, surrounding an empty space on the Pelennor Fields. After consulting with Mel, he had sent men ahead to dig a grave for the Sentry. Andonil seemed pleased with that.

_"Our brothers in the field will watch over him well."_

There was another pause, but Mel could sense he was struggling with something, so she waited. Then, slowly, a tiny branch came snaking through the air toward her, thin but untouched by fire, with three bright green leaves on its tip.

 _"Take it,"_ Andonil said. The strain of the movement made his voice sound weak, _"Take it and bury it with my brother."_

Mel didn't hesitate.

"I need a knife."

She didn't see who pressed the handle into her hand, but the blade was sharp, cleanly slicing through the tender shoot in one stroke. Mel used just a touch of her own light to heal the fresh wound. Andonil sighed.

_"Now I will always be with him."_

At a loss for words, Mel pressed a hand to his blackened trunk and filled him with as much warmth as she could.

"I'll take care of him," she whispered aloud, "Don't worry."

"Melody?"

She turned. Boromir stood behind her, along with the rest of the men, still waiting, waiting for her to give the command that would separate the Sentries forever. She sucked in a breath through her nose, then stood back.

"Okay," she said, "We're ready now."

Boromir turned and gave the order. With a lunge, the team of horses surged forward. There was a creak, a rumble, and then a crash. The fallen Sentry was uprooted. The men quickly loaded him into the wagon and, before Mel knew it, she was riding in the bed with him to his final resting place. To Mel's surprise, all of the men that had worked so hard to clear him followed the wagon across the fields in a silent funeral procession. Mel felt her heart swell. It was more than she could have hoped for.

Mel could hear the trees of the grove murmuring as they approached, but when the wagon passed under the branches the trees fell silent. Not even a leaf stirred. The men in the procession joined the group that had gone ahead to prepare for the Sentry's arrival and they all stood silently, surrounding the hole that had been dug in the grass of the little meadow. It was a quiet place, and pretty. The sun was setting, filtering gently through the leaves. Mel could see wildflowers growing along the edges and she hoped that someday those flowers would cover the place that held her friend. She put a hand on his blackened trunk, more as a comfort to herself than anything.

The wagon came to halt and the men carefully lifted the Sentry and placed him in the grave. Mel stood by and watched in silence, holding Andonil's branch close to her chest. When the trunk had been lowered and covered with the remains of the branches that had been gathered from the gate, the men all stepped back and waited. Mel suddenly realized that she was expected to say something. She had never spoken at a funeral before. What should she say?

It was only then, casting about for words to express what she was feeling, that she noticed the stone. It was a large boulder that had been rolled into the clearing and placed at the edge of the Sentry's grave. On the smoothest side, these words had been engraved:

**Here lies a Hero of the Men of Gondor, a Sentry of the White Tower,**

**Who stood tall in the face of fire and death to defend his City.**

**His Sacrifice Will Not Be Forgotten.**

Mel's chest tightened. Barely aware of what she was doing, she stepped toward the boulder, reaching out to brush the words with trembling fingers, just to be sure it was real. She could feel the rough carving of the words against the cool stone. She started to cry, silent tears that dripped from her jaw. She looked up at the men who had worked so hard and done so much and she was _so_ grateful.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper through her tears, "Thank you."

Then she placed a kiss to the slender branch in her hand and tossed it into the grave. It landed softly, the bright green sharp against the black remains of its kin. Boromir stepped forward and took a handful of earth.

"We do not forget," he said, as he tossed it into the grave.

One by one, each of the men came forward and tossed in a handful of earth, murmuring words of respect, of remembrance, of thanks. Mel couldn't stop crying. She had never expected this. Even Lord Hurin came forward, tossing in his handful of earth, and then stopping in front of her, reaching out to touch her arm.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he whispered.

Before Mel had a chance to respond, he hurried out of the clearing.

When each man had paid his respects, they all took shovels and set to the grim task of filling in the hole. The work went quickly with so many, and soon only Mel and Boromir remained in the dim twilight. They stood together over the fresh earth, Boromir just within reach, but not touching her. Mel had finally stopped crying. She felt empty. The task was done. She had taken care of the Sentry. He would be safe here. And he would be remembered.

She took a deep breath and forced her eyes away. Boromir was looking down at the grave solemnly. Mel reached out and took his hand.

"Thank you."

Boromir blinked and looked up at her.

"For what?"

"For this. For taking the time," She looked around, "Lord Hurin picked a wonderful place for him. Andonil will be happy with it."

"Andonil?"

"His brother," Mel said, "He's chosen the name Andonil."

Boromir nodded, his eyes thoughtful.

"Yes… yes, it suits him."

"What does it mean?"

He paused.

"It means 'Devoted to the Gate'."

Mel felt a smile pull at her lips.

"Yeah. It does suit him."

She squeezed his hand.

"It's getting dark. Let's go."

Together they walked back to the main gate, and as they passed under the archway Mel paused and put her hand on Andonil's trunk, pulling a picture of the clearing into her mind, and the words engraved on the boulder. A shiver passed through him.

 _"It is done,"_ he sighed, _"Thank you, Calenhiril. Thank you."_

Mel nodded, but didn't speak. She felt so tired and empty, all of her energy drained from her. She left Andonil and walked with Boromir into the city. The long trek to the Citadel seemed endless and she wished they had brought horses, even though she doubted whether she could have stayed mounted for long. Boromir didn't push her and if it had been under any other circumstances Mel might have enjoyed the moonlit stroll. But everywhere she looked all she could see was the destruction of war and it just made her more tired.

They finally reached the Citadel and paused in the courtyard of the White Tree. It stood stark against the gloom of the falling night, a sharp contrast to the Sentry lying hundreds of feet below on the plains. Mel could see how the tree might have once been beautiful, covered in soft, green leaves and budding flowers in a warm, gentle breeze. She hoped she would be around to see another tree flower in the courtyard.

"When I was a child…"

Boromir's voice rumbled in the still night air, bringing Mel's mind back to the present.

"…my mother used to come to this place each evening. She would sit at the base of the White Tree for an hour each day with her needlework. It always seemed so strange to me that she should do this. We had much prettier spots in the garden. 'My boy,' she told me once, 'We are a comfort in our suffering, for our sacrifices are the same. For love, we give all. Someday, I pray you will have that love. And when that day comes, I pray you will give all.'"

Mel felt a shiver run down her spine. Boromir pressed her hand to his chest, though his eyes remained fixed on the tree.

"I did not understand her then. Not even when she died. I didn't understand what feeling drove her to this place. But now…"

He looked down at her and Mel saw a flicker of softness in his eyes.

"Now… I think I finally begin to see."

"Lord Boromir."

They turned and the servant boy behind them bowed, looking sheepish.

"Forgive me, my lord, but your brother has asked for you."

Boromir nodded to the boy, showing no outward sign of having been interrupted.

"Of course."

He kissed the tips of Mel's fingers softly.

"You should rest, Melody."

For once, she completely agreed.

"I think I will. Tell Faramir hello for me."

Boromir smiled and followed the servant boy out of the courtyard, but Mel lingered for just a minute more. Something about Boromir's story had struck a chord with her, something his mother had said.

_For love, we give all._

What would she have to give for love? What was she willing to give? She loved Boromir, undeniably. But could she give up Legolas for that love? Was that a sacrifice she could live with? She wouldn't just be losing a friend. She loved him too, though it was certainly a very different kind of love, and she couldn't imagine her life without him in it. But Boromir was emblazoned on her heart, in every fiber of her being. She had saved his life because she loved him. She couldn't give him up now.

Man, elf, lover, friend, what would Mel have to give for love? She just had to keep hoping that she would think of something before it was too late.


	23. Chapter 23

Mel woke up feeling better than she had in days. She was sore all over and starving, but her mind was still and blissfully empty. For several seconds she considered just staying in bed, trying to preserve this feeling of calm and control, but no sooner had the thought occurred to her, then she realized inactivity would do nothing but give her time to brood, and she sat up with a jolt, flinging on her clothes and sword, and nabbing an apple from a bowl on her side table before rushing out the door, as if the quicker she moved, the longer she might evade the choking panic that was even now lurking on the edges of her consciousness.

The citadel was bustling, everyone scurrying frantically, trying to prepare for the march to Mordor. The army that had amassed was no small force, even after the Battle of Pelennor Fields, and they would need supplies and provisions to last for many days of marching and on short notice. Mel wound her way through servants and soldiers alike, none of whom gave her any more than a passing glance, and she finished the last bite of her apple just as she stepped into the sunshine of the dusty practice court.

For as many people as were scurrying around the citadel, there were a surprising number of men engaged in sword play this morning. Mel was barely able to find a spare bit of ground to run through a short warm up. When she had finished, she sheathed her sword, feeling calm and centered again, the fluttering panic held at bay a little while longer. Seeing no one she knew and noticing that even more men had shown up in the short bit of time she had been there, she decided to keep moving, to make way for others and find something else to occupy her mind and empty hours. But as she was slipping through the crowd she caught the eye of a man she didn't recognize watching her from the railing, dressed in a tunic of familiar forest green. Mel smiled (an expression he did not return) and made her way over to him.

"You're one of Lord Hirluin's men, aren't you?" The man nodded. "Is he around? I'd be glad for a rematch."

The man's neutral expression faltered for a moment, and Mel's heart hit the bottom of her stomach.

"He fell, my lady," he said, "On the fields of Pelennor."

The calm, empty bubble that had filled Mel's mind burst, and a rush of black ice surged to fill the void. She could see Hirluin's face, his bright blue eyes, his wide smile…

"Lord Forlong as well."

Mel thought she might stumble, but she managed to stay upright. The big man, so excited, so eager, so kind. She hadn't known either of them long, but she had thought… She should have known. Why hadn't she been told? She had been busy, but she should have thought, someone should have said, she should have _known_ …

"I… I'm sorry," she said, stumbling over the words as she tried to pull herself together, "I'm sorry, I… I didn't know."

"They died with honor, my lady," the young man said, "We should all hope for such a death as to be remembered."

He turned and walked away before Mel could form a reply, leaving her feeling as if the world had tilted on its axis and she was about to tip off the surface. She had been so focused on the Sentries, on the Valar, on Legolas and Boromir. The loss of these two men, lords that she had hoped to one day count as friends, was jarring and unexpected. She felt as if she should have done more for them, should have done _something_ anyway. They had shown her nothing but kindness from the moment she'd met them, and she'd repaid them with… what? Not even a thought in two days.

Mel felt the familiar burn of bile at the back of her throat and she turned sharply, striding out of the dusty yard with no fixed destination in mind, only knowing that she had to keep moving before the icy black feeling in her mind spread to the rest of her, freezing her where she stood. Everywhere she looked people were busy, running around frantically doing whatever it was that was needed. But Mel didn't know what she should do, only that she should do something.

When she passed under the stone archway into the Houses of Healing, she let out a sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding. It was cool and calm here, and she felt like she could finally breathe again without the air weighing her down. She asked about Loriel and was pointed in a general direction. She finally found her, digging through a cabinet, checking through half empty bottles.

"What can I do, Loriel?"

The servant girl jumped and nearly dropped the bottle she was holding.

"Oh, Mel! You frightened me."

Mel smiled, but didn't budge, rolling up her sleeves with what she hoped was a determined air.

"What do you need me to do?"

"Oh nothing, nothing at all! You needn't be troubled with us, I'm sure there are other things…"

Mel bit back a sharp retort and took a breath through her nose.

"Loriel, I'm going to go crazy. Please, give me something to do."

Loriel stared at her a moment and she must have seen something in her eyes, because she relented fairly quickly.

"Very well. You may help me attend."

So Mel spent the morning following Loriel around as she tended to the injured soldiers. Most were not so bad. Loriel was not a trained healer so her job was mostly changing bandages and checking on less serious injuries. Mel was really nothing more than a glorified storage unit, carrying bottles and bandages and trying to stay out of the way. She was okay with that. At least she was moving, doing something, helping people, and that made her feel a little better

They wound their way methodically between the cots lining the large main lobby, before moving on to the private rooms. They visited with Merry for a while, who was still going stir crazy, but only clenched his jaw and nodded determinedly when Loriel declared him still too weak to be released. They left him flexing his fists and glaring at his legs as if he might simply will them back to full strength again if he only put his mind to it. They visited a few more rooms, lesser nobles Mel had never met, and by the time Mel realized she recognized where they were, they were already passing by the room that had once housed Lord Denethor. Mel paused, staring through the door at the unfamiliar face of a lord she'd never seen before, and then ran to catch up to Loriel.

"Where's the Steward?" she blurted out, a little knot of anxiety in her chest, "Did something happen?"

"He has been taking his rest in his own bed," Loriel said without a backward glance, "After the battle there was need of the space and he preferred the solitude of his own rooms anyway."

The little knot of worry relaxed away. Running into Denethor here would have been awkward to say the least, after the things that had been said between them. The truth was Mel would be happy if she never had to see him again, but of course that was highly unlikely since she was in love with his favorite son. She wondered if Denethor even knew about her and Boromir. She couldn't imagine that he would keep silent about it if he did. She imagined the classic evil-father scenario, where he offered her gold, jewels, and half of his kingdom to stay away from his son.

_No. Never. Not a chance in hell._

Even she was surprised by how quickly the answer came to her, how strongly she felt it. Not for the whole world would she give up Boromir. Did that mean she was willing to lose Legolas to save him? No. No, she wasn't, and she felt the same amount conviction in that. Not for the whole world would she sacrifice her friend. So what was she going to…?

"Mel?"

She jumped. Loriel was a few steps down the hall, looking back at her, concerned.

"Mel, are you alright?"

No, she wasn't alright. She was beginning to wonder if she would ever be alright again. But she smiled and nodded anyway, because she didn't know what else to do.

"Yeah sorry, I just… I was thinking."

Loriel narrowed her eyes, but didn't press her further.

"We are nearly finished," she said instead, "There in only one room remaining, though he has been particularly…" Loriel hesitated, "…difficult of late."

Mel's curiosity was piqued, but before she could open her mouth to ask Loriel pushed open the door and dropped a formal curtsy.

"And how is my lord feeling this morning?"

"Trapped, sweet lady, as usual. And you?"

Just the sound of that voice brightened up the darkness in Mel's heart a little. Faramir turned from his window just as she slipped in behind Loriel and his face lit up.

"Mel! What a pleasant surprise!"

He strode across the room and seized her hand to kiss it. That was when she noticed his arm, bandaged in a sling. He followed her gaze and shrugged.

"It seems my injury was a bit more severe than I had anticipated," He glanced at Loriel with a sparkle of amusement in his eye, "So now I am at the mercy of overreacting nursemaids."

"Now my lord Faramir, you know that is unfair to say," Loriel said, without even looking up from the pillow she was fluffing, "We care for you as we do all our patients."

"Do you, dear Loriel?" Faramir said, "It vexes me that while my people prepare to march, I languish in this tower like an invalid. Were it not for constant and unnecessary fussing…"

" _Yes_ , my lord; of _course_ , my lord; now if you would please _sit_ , my lord," Loriel recited in a cadence that had the distinct air of a conversation repeated before… several times.

"You see, Mel?" Faramir said, gesturing at Loriel's turned back, "You see how I am treated? It is shameful, I tell you, simply shameful!"

Loriel caught Mel's gaze and rolled her eyes dramatically, but she was smiling as broadly as Faramir. With only a little more fussing and half-hearted complaints, Faramir sat and allowed Loriel to clean and re-bandage his wound, which Mel thought looked pretty nasty, definitely not the 'insignificant scratch' Faramir claimed it to be.

"So," Faramir said, wincing as Loriel gently put a wet cloth to his wound, "Mel, how does my brother fare? I have not seen him yet today."

"I haven't either," Mel said, "I've been here all morning."

"Is that so?" Faramir said, wincing again as Loriel applied a salve, "I had thought he would be affixed to your side."

"Why is that?"

Faramir gave her a long, weighted look, and then he shrugged his uninjured shoulder and dropped his gaze to Loriel's hands.

"Merely guesswork. I know how much he cares for you."

Mel felt her face get hot. He knew about Legolas. Or at least what Boromir _suspected_ about Legolas. She tried hard not to be mad. Of course Boromir would tell his brother, he had probably been angry and hurt. And honestly, there was no one else she would rather he'd spoken to. Faramir seemed level-headed and logical, traits that his brother often lacked, and she trusted him to give Boromir good advice. She also knew that whatever Boromir had said would go no further than Faramir's ears, which was comforting. But still she felt as if her privacy had been violated a little bit. What must Faramir think of her? Did he know that she loved his brother, that she would never, _ever_ hurt him? She hoped so, but she couldn't be sure.

Mel wandered over to the window as Loriel finished up with Faramir's bandages to give herself a little breathing space. The room overlooked a pretty courtyard with a stone fountain and an open wall facing east. A slender woman sat alone on a stone bench, wrapped in a cloak and staring toward the orange glow of Mordor, completely still except for her long golden hair floating around her in wisps.

"She only sits."

Faramir had come up behind her, leaning against the window and staring down at the woman with a furrowed brow.

"She comes early in the morning and stays until it is too dark to see, all day, never moving. While I pace here like a caged animal, all she does is sit. I don't understand why."

Mel felt a warm flutter in her heart when she heard the wistfulness in his voice.

"Maybe you should ask her."

The words had left her mouth before she'd even thought them through. Faramir blinked, and turned a slightly suspicious eye on her.

"Do you… know that woman, Mel?"

"Yes."

She turned away from the window, feeling the beginnings of a smirk touch her lips as Faramir followed after her.

"Who is she? Where does she come from? Why is she here?"

"I told you," Mel said, "You should ask her."

"But why won't you tell me?"

Mel whirled around so quickly that Faramir nearly ran right into her, forcing him to stumble back a step.

"Because I have enough to worry about, while apparently you are bored out of your mind. So I'm giving you something to do. Stop being such a creepy stalker staring at her out of a window, go down there, and talk to her."

They stood and stared at each other for a moment, but to Mel's surprise Faramir caved first. He slumped his shoulders, turned back, and leaned against the wall, still staring down into the courtyard.

"Perhaps," he murmured, "Perhaps I will."

Mel rolled her eyes.

"Better make up your mind. She might not be there forever."

Then she left, following Loriel out of the room without another look back. Once they were well out of earshot, Loriel glanced at Mel with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"May I ask what that was about?"

Mel hadn't been able to wipe the smile off her face yet.

"Just trying to get some things right."

Loriel stared at her for a moment, clearly waiting for her to elaborate. When it became clear that Mel was not going to say anything else, Loriel just smiled and shook her head.

"You are so odd, Mel. I'm not sure I will ever fully understand you."

"Join the club," Mel muttered smirking.

Loriel's brow furrowed.

"Club?"

Mel laughed and twined her arm with Loriel's.

"Never mind," she said, "Let's go see if there's anything to eat around here. I'm starving."

* * *

There was a thought nudging insistently at the back of Boromir's mind. It had been there all night and for much of the day, flitting along the borders of his consciousness, cropping up at the most unexpected times and places, pulling his attention away from where it should be, over and over again. They were preparing for a march that to all appearances would end in nothing but death. He needed to focus on the task, on the men under his command asking for leadership, for guidance… and yet…

It was too soon for such thoughts, much too soon, but there it was, floating around the edges of his mind, taking the form of dreams and bits of memory, of what had been and what could be. The future was uncertain, but wasn't it always? He had not even been meant to come this far, to see what he had seen: the near ruin of his city, the long dark siege, the destruction of that which he held so dear. If not for Melody… It seemed that she was most adept at saving that which was not meant to be saved. And he loved her for it, for her courage, for her heart, even for her stubborn determination. He would never love another the way he loved every small part of her.

Perhaps this thought, this wild idea that was growing in his heart, was not too soon after all.

Of course, there were complications. The elf had changed things. Whether Melody wished to believe it or not, Boromir could see it, the feelings that burned like blue fire when Legolas looked at her. It caused a blackness to rise up in him that he had not felt since the mines of Moria, since Lothlorien, since the very voice of evil had whispered dark half-truths in his ear, and that blackness had caused a rift, not between Boromir and Melody, but between Boromir and Legolas. He knew that Melody cared very much for the elf, that she loved him in a way, which made it all the more difficult to even look at Legolas without feeling animosity. Melody would be upset with him if she knew, of course. She would see it as doubt, as uncertainty in her feelings for Boromir, but that simply wasn't the case. He knew that she loved him. He could see it in her eyes and frankly it was astounding that it had taken him so long to recognize it. But knowing she felt so strongly for her friend, and that Legolas in turn was most certainly in love with her, made things difficult. But even this did not seem to thwart the thought taking ever deeper root, or the growing certainty that he could not live without her. If, in the end, she chose the elf, that would be the day that he stopped breathing. He lived because of her, and he lived only for her.

So when the day was done and dusk was settling over Minas Tirith, he went to his father. Whether or not it was too soon he could not say, but he knew that this thought, this certainty that he felt, would not leave him until something was done. And he had always been a man of action.

Denethor had remained in his quarters since the incident in the tower. Boromir knew that he blamed Melody for what had happened. He also knew that the anger his father felt was misdirected. What he had done had been reckless and dangerous, and in truth, Melody had probably saved his life and the lives of many others. But Lord Denethor was a proud man and slow to forgive any perceived wrong done to him. Because of these things Boromir approached his father cautiously, expecting his request to be met with strong words at the least.

Denethor was sitting at his desk shuffling through a stack of parchments, requests for provisions for the march, things that had most likely already been packed away. The requisitions were simply a formality.

"Ah, Boromir, good, I had hoped to see you about some of these matters."

"Father, you really should be resting," Boromir said, already on his guard.

He knew that Denethor was not pleased about the decision to march on Mordor, mostly because it had been made without consulting him, but after much discussion he had been made to see that it was the only option left to them. Now Boromir simply hoped that he wouldn't put his power as Steward to use against the campaign. Though Aragorn was even now within the city, he had yet to reveal himself as the rightful heir of Isildur, therefore Denethor remained the Ruling Steward of Gondor. Boromir dreaded the day when Aragorn's lineage was revealed to his father. He had no way of knowing what the results might be.

Denethor waved away his son's concern.

"Nonsense, I am well enough to take care of this business. Now, will you take all of the men to the Black Gate? I do not like to leave the city undefended."

"Lord Golasgil's men will stay behind, along with the Citadel guard. The city will remain under their care until we return."

"And you will lead the men on the march?" Denethor muttered distractedly, his quill scratching at the bottom of another parchment.

"Yes, I will lead them."

This was a bit of a falsehood. Boromir would lead the men of Gondor, Eomer would lead the men of Rohan, but all would ride under the banner of the King, therefore Aragorn would lead the charge. This was the ploy to draw out Sauron's army, to ride united under one banner. It was a good plan, as suicide missions went, but Boromir was reluctant to tell this to his father. He was reluctant to tell his father many things since the incident in the Tower of Ecthelion.

Denethor signed another few things, and then set the stack aside. He folded his hands on his desk and smiled at Boromir, who still stood before him.

"My son, why do you stand so stiffly there? Come, sit. I am told you wished to speak with me."

Boromir hesitated. For some reason he felt that he should stand, but that was foolish. This was his father; he should not feel the need to distance himself from him. His anxiety over his request was making him defensive. He forced his body to relax and he settled into one of the chairs across the desk from Denethor. But still he paused, at a loss for the right words. A hint of concern slipped into his father's pleasant expression.

"What troubles you, Boromir?" he asked, "You look distraught."

"I am… distracted, Father, not distraught. I have come to ask for something, something I thought I might never have need of, and I find that I don't know quite how to begin."

Denethor sat back in his chair, his hands folded together and his eyes searching curiously, as if he might pull Boromir's request from his mind by sheer force of will.

"Why don't you begin by telling me what it is that you need of me? You know that anything you ask I would give you."

There was nothing else for it. No second thoughts or turning back. Boromir took a deep breath and held his father's gaze.

"I have come to ask for Mother's wedding ring."


	24. Chapter 24

As Boromir watched, a range of emotions flitted across his father's face. Shock, disbelief, and just a hint of anger before Denethor managed to rearrange his features into a neutral expression with which Boromir was all too familiar. It was a calculating look, the look of a man about to engage in a battle of wits. Boromir steeled his nerves and prepared his mind.

"Why would you ask this of me, my son?" Denethor said, his tone level and deceptively calm.

"You know why, Father."

Boromir did not allow any hint of anxiety to color his reply. His request had not been outright denied, nor had it been granted. They were on shaky ground now. He needed tread lightly, something he wasn't sure he was able to do.

Denethor was very still for a long moment, his face unreadable, scrutinizing with his dark gray eyes for Boromir knew not what. Then with a sudden finality, the Steward rose and crossed into the next room, his bedroom, disappearing for several silent minutes. When he returned he carried with him a small box, plain in appearance, but the way he held it betrayed how precious the contents were to him. He sat and placed the box in the center of his desk, and then slowly, carefully, he raised the lid and drew out a delicate ring, a diamond in its center, sapphires embedded in waves of silver cascading away like ocean waves. Denethor gently turned it over in his fingertips, watching the stones catch the lamplight, his eyes soft. When he spoke again, his voice precise, but gentle.

"I will not insult your intelligence further by asking the name of the woman to whom you intend to propose marriage. I might be old, but I am not yet blind or deaf. I will also not bother asking if you have given thought to your true feelings. I trust you to know your own heart."

To all appearances, this would seem to be going well, but Boromir would not feel truly at ease until the ring was in his hand. He waited.

"There is however, something I would like to say to you," Denethor murmured, his eyes still fixed on the ring, "Something I have never spoken to another living soul, but it is a truth that has haunted me for many years, a truth I would like you to hear rather than experience for yourself."

Denethor paused and moved his eyes up to his son's face. There was pain in his gaze, a pain that Boromir did not believe his father could have conjured only to turn his mind. It was a deep sorrow that he had only seen once before, nearly thirty years ago at his mother's graveside.

"That truth is, Boromir, if I could go back and rescind any action of mine, I would never have married your mother."

Boromir felt as if all the air had been pressed from his lungs. No matter what he had thought would be said, or what truth revealed, he had not expected this. Denethor looked back down at the ring in his hand, his expression distant.

"Do not misunderstand me. I loved her. I loved her more than all the power, and riches, and wisdom of the world, more dearly than any other. In truth, I love her still, though she is gone from me."

His eyes hardened and he fixed Boromir with his stony gaze.

"It is because of that love, I wish I had not married her. Your mother was beautiful and strong when I first beheld her, standing on the shore of the sea, the wind tossing her dark, wild hair. She laughed and ran along the sand, and I could not take my eyes from her. Her spirit burned so bright, both in her beauty, her heart, and her mind. The first time I spoke to her, I knew that I loved her, and that I wanted nothing else in the world than to spend the rest of my life with her. And I believe that she returned my love. I believe this because it is the only comfort I have to cling to when I think back on our time together…"

His voice trailed off, his gaze unfocused for the briefest of moments. Boromir allowed himself a single shallow breath. Denethor blinked and his features hardened once more, his eyes fixing on the ring in his grasp with an almost angry expression.

"I loved her and she loved me. To all appearances it was a perfect match, none spoke a word against it. But that love was not enough to keep her spirit alive. She withered behind these walls. Though her mind was sharp she had not the heart for politics, and though her body was strong she had not the stomach for the shadow that lingered always on the eastern horizon. Her spirit longed for the freedom she had felt on the shores of the sea, for the breeze that had blown her hair and lifted her heart. I thought to keep her locked away, that with time she would forget the salt air and the sea waves, that she might grow to love my city the way she had grown to love me. I selfishly supposed that my love would sustain her, and blinded myself against any evidence to the contrary."

Denethor sucked in a breath and shut his eyes, relaxing his fingers which had clenched reflexively. Boromir could feel the pain these words brought to his father. He had never heard him speak so candidly of such things. Denethor managed one more breath, smoothing his features as he exhaled.

"I did not realize my mistake until it was far too late. When she died, I searched for anything at all on which to place the guilt I felt. I blamed the sea, I blamed the Dark Lord of the East, for a time I even blamed your brother. But truly, the blame rests solely on my shoulders. Had I been a wiser man, had I been a kinder man, I would have left Finduilas laughing by the shores of the sea, and taken nothing from Dol Amroth but her memory and the knowledge that my love lived on in her."

He opened his eyes and fixed them on Boromir once more.

"I tell you this now, my son, that you might take heed. That you love Melody, I have no doubt. When first you brought her to me, I saw in your eyes the same passion that burned inside me as a younger man. Melody's heart is her own; I will not venture to predict her feelings. But I ask you this…"

He lifted the ring into the air between them.

"Will this trap her, or set her free?"

Boromir stared at the ring in his father's fingers. It glittered in the candlelight, but somehow the image no longer held the mystic appeal that it had before. It held instead the faintest glint of hostility, of malice.

"You know of the power she holds," Denethor said, "The tie that binds her to the forests. I do not pretend to understand it, but I know it exists. Do you think she will be truly happy here, encased in a city of stone, always cut off from the spirits of the trees she serves with her whole being? I have been told of her devastation following the loss of the tree at the gates. Severed forever from a world she has grown to love so deeply, do you believe she will thrive? Or will she wither, like a flower deprived of sunlight?"

A distraught panic was clawing at Boromir's chest. He stared into his father's eyes, now filled with bitterness and sorrow, and he knew only one thing.

"I love her, Father," he whispered, desperately trying not to choke on the words, "I love her."

Denethor placed the ring back in its box, fitting the lid snugly in place, and pushed it toward his son.

"Then take this. You will do as you see fit and I will not hinder you. I ask only that you heed my warning. Think carefully on what I have said."

Boromir reached for the box and Denethor covered his hand with his own.

"I love you, Boromir," he said, "More dearly than any other. I wish only that you not be burdened by such sorrow as I carry. It grows only heavier as time goes by. Think on what I have said. Swear it to me."

Boromir managed a shuddering breath, and nodded.

"I swear."

Only then did his father smile, and release him.

"Go then. I wish to be alone for a little while."

Boromir left, placing his mother's ring in a pouch on his belt he had brought just for this purpose, but the weight of it seemed to weigh also on his heart and mind. He loved his father, and he took his oath seriously, but what Denethor had told him was distressing. He loved Melody… but was he willing to ask her to sacrifice her life for his? Someday, he would take up the rod of his father as the Steward of Gondor, and even under the kingship that was no small task. Aragorn's reign would be tumultuous at best as the land adjusted to the rule of the rightful king. The place of the Steward would be to aid in that transition, a position Boromir would gladly assume in order to prosper his people. But was that a life Melody could live with him? It was the life of a politician, the life of a ruler, and quite frankly, not a life that Melody had any experience in leading. Would this life of public responsibility be too much of a burden? Would her heart remain with him while her spirit longed to be free?

He remembered his mother, especially in her last years. Her heart had remained gentle and kind, but she had seemed so frail, so broken…

_For love, we give all…_

Those words had seemed such a mystery to him when he was a boy. What strength of feeling would cause you to sacrifice everything, even your own life? He had never experienced such a depth of emotion before. Not before Melody. Now it seemed so simple. How could he have ever thought that he would not give all? For Melody, he would give all that he had, every possession, every comfort, just to know that she was safe, that she was happy, that she was cared for. Though the sacrifice ended his own life, he would give it. For this love, he would give all.

And truly, he would give all. For if ever he thought that any action of his had caused her pain or… he could hardly think it… her death… If that ever happened, his father was wrong. It was not a burden that would grow with time, unless the burden continued into the life after this. For without her, his life would be forfeit. It was an acceptable sacrifice, because he could not imagine a world without her in it.

But now the words took an even deeper layer of meaning. For love, we give all. He would give his life for hers. But would he give his life for her freedom? Without her, he feared his life would lose all meaning, not because he owed this life to her, but because he felt as if his life had not begun before she entered it. Was that also an acceptable sacrifice? Was he willing to live a life without meaning, without light or hope, but with the knowledge that he could think of her and know that she was cared for, that she was protected, that she was loved? Was he truly willing to give all, even give her up, for this love? Somehow, this seemed like a greater sacrifice than his own life, and yet as he considered it, he realized he was willing to do it.

But even as he came to this conclusion, something about it struck him false. His mind circled in endless loops, but that sense of falsehood would not leave him. Some bit of his logic was flawed. And there was only one man that he trusted with something as precious as this.

He was not terribly surprised to discover that his feet had carried him to his chosen destination without his knowledge. He was standing before the Houses of Healing. He stepped inside, moving quietly through the dim hallways until he reached his brother's room. It was late and he didn't wish to disturb Faramir if he was sleeping, so he quietly pushed open the door and glanced inside. He should not have worried. Faramir stood by the window of his room, staring out into the night, a look of quiet reflection on his face. He turned when the door creaked and smiled.

"Ah, brother, I thought you might not come today."

Boromir slipped inside and carefully pressed the door closed behind him.

"You should be resting, Faramir."

But Faramir waved away his concern.

"Rest, all I do is rest. I grow tired from resting," he muttered, pulling up a chair and gesturing at another for Boromir, "What brings you here so late?"

Boromir took the chair and hesitated only a moment before he replied, "I've been to see Father."

"And how does he fare?"

"Well. Much like you, he should be resting, but takes no comfort from it."

Faramir smiled.

"Our family is not known to be much idle."

"No," Boromir agreed, "It would seem not."

"But that is not why you've come to see me."

There was no sense in denying it. Faramir's eyes had always seen more in Boromir than any other, reading his moods in the smallest gestures and expressions. Boromir reached into the pouch on his belt and took out the box. Faramir's face grew still and reverent even before Boromir opened it, revealing their mother's ring. Faramir let out a long, slow breath as he sat back in his chair, his eyes widened slightly, staring at the ring trembling slightly in Boromir's hand.

"Boromir…"

"I know," he said, shutting the box and putting it back in the pouch, "I know, it's too soon, far too soon, but…"

He stumbled over his words for a moment. Faramir sat forward again, resting his elbows on his knees as he carefully considered all aspects of the situation, just as Boromir expected of him.

"What did Father say?"

Faramir's voice held only a hint of emotion, but Boromir recognized it, concern and doubt.

"He… told me to trust to my own judgment."

"But that was not all he said," Faramir remarked, "Or you would certainly not be here with me. Tell me, brother. Tell me what was said and I will help you if I can."

So Boromir did. He told Faramir everything that Denethor had revealed to him, and all the doubts and uncertainties that he felt. He wasn't even certain that everything he said made sense, but Faramir listened just as he always did, quiet and attentive, allowing Boromir to voice all of his thoughts aloud, laying them out for inspection.

When he had finally exhausted himself from talking in circles, Faramir settled back in his chair and was quiet for a moment. Boromir could see his brother's mind working, making connections that he could not see, putting together the puzzle of his words, forming them into a coherent whole. And only once his mind had settled did Faramir speak.

"There seems to be something you have forgotten, brother."

"Yes, yes I know, but I cannot place it," Boromir said, clenching and unclenching his fists restlessly, "Something feels false even as I say it aloud…"

"You have forgotten Mel."

Boromir stared at his brother for a long moment. Then his temper flared.

" _Forgotten_ her? How could I forget her? Everything, all of this, is about her!"

Faramir only shook his head, with no sign of acknowledging his brother's outrage.

"No, Boromir, you _have_ forgotten her, you just haven't realized it. Everything you have said to me tonight has been about _your_ feelings, what _you_ would do, what _you_ are willing to sacrifice. You have forgotten about Mel. Does she not have a say in this as much as you? Is she not also allowed to give all, should she choose to?"

Boromir clenched his jaw to stifle his anger. His brother's words rang true, but the thought was repelling to him. Melody should not have to sacrifice. She should not have to experience that pain.

"Father's feelings are genuine, but I believe his opinion of Mother is flawed, colored by his guilt and pride," Faramir continued, "He assumes that he alone was responsible for her fate, and that simply is not true. Mother was not trapped here. No one forced her to be his bride. True, no one opposed the match, but neither was the match imposed upon her. Nor was she misled as to what that choice entailed. You knew her better than I, of course, but even I do not think she was one to be easily deceived. She chose to come here, to live within these walls, to leave behind everything familiar to her, for a man she loved more than her own life. For love, she gave all, and it was her choice to do so. Is Mel not worthy of that same choice?"

"I would never have her choose to sacrifice for me," Boromir said bitterly.

"Your sacrifices are more precious than hers?"

"No!"

"Then let her make her choice, Boromir," Faramir said, his eyes set hard as flint, "If you love her as you say, do not deny her this. She has already given so much for you. If you wish to honor that sacrifice, give up your selfish pride and let her make her choice."

He knew his brother was right. He knew it deep in his heart, but it only made him feel more anxious. What if she made the logical choice? What if she chose the elf that loved her and could give her a life among the trees she felt such deep communion with?

Or… what if she chose him… and he was forced to watch her fade away?

Faramir put a hand on Boromir's knee, his features softened slightly.

"I do not pretend to understand the turmoil you feel, Boromir. I know only that I love you, and wish to see you happy. And though the days we live in are darker than we have ever known, when you are with her I have never seen you happier. She makes you a stronger man, a better man. I see the love that you share, and it is the sort of love I dream of sharing with another one day."

These words warmed Boromir's heart and he was reminded of why he had asked for his mother's ring in the first place, the conviction he'd felt. He loved her. He loved Melody, more than his life, more than his pride, more than anything. He felt as if a great burden had been lifted from his soul. He smiled and squeezed Faramir's shoulder affectionately.

"Thank you, little brother. As always, you light my way when my thoughts grow dark."

Faramir returned his smile and clapped him on the knee.

"You're just turning into a stubborn old man, Boromir, sometimes you need a shove in the right direction. Someday, I expect you'll be forced to do the same for me."

Boromir barked a laugh and stood.

"Well, your stubborn old brother is now insisting that you get some rest."

"As should you," Faramir said, "You have a long march ahead of you."

Yes, he did. The host of the West would leave Minas Tirith tomorrow on the long, dark road to Mordor. There was much yet to prepare. So much left to do.

Boromir left his brother's room, his thoughts scattered by weariness. Tomorrow. He would think more on it tomorrow. For now, he was content.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know I've told several of you that I was expecting everything to go back to normal after November. Clearly that has not been the case. Honestly, I've experienced a little bit of burn out, not just with this story, but with writing in general. I've given a lot to my writing this year and it's all finally caught up to me. So I've taken the month of December to rest and recuperate, but since I did promise you guys an update, you at least get this chapter. Hopefully in January I will be rested and ready to tackle my writing with renewed vigor! Thank you guys SO MUCH for your support and patience, you've just been the absolute best, I can't wait to get back into the swing of things!
> 
> Until then, enjoy!
> 
> P.S.- Also, a few new elvish phrases in this chapter, translations are included in hover text and in the note at the end.

Mel woke up anxious the next morning. The Host of the West would march on Mordor today. She hadn't been told this exactly, but she had learned it through a rather roundabout method of eavesdropping and carefully placed questions and she had spent most of the night making sure she was ready, her bag packed, her cloak and sword laid out close by. She had slept fitfully and for only a few hours at most, but she was already up and repacking for the third time when Loriel tapped on her door. The servant girl had brought a fresh set of clothes for the march and a tray of breakfast porridge and fruit that Mel felt almost too queasy to look at, but she made a show of trying and shoved a couple of apples into her bag for later.

"Well, I won't keep you," Loriel said, with a sort of forced cheer, "I'm sure your friends are waiting and I…"

Impulsively, Mel pulled the girl into a hug that cut her off.

"You're my friend too, Loriel," she said, trying not to let her voice crack, "You know that, right?"

There was a beat when Loriel did not move. Then the girl hugged her back, her small fingers digging almost insistently into Mel's tunic.

"Come back to us, my lady," she said, her voice slightly muffled against Mel's shoulder, "The city will be dimmed by your absence."

Mel swallowed the lump in her throat.

"I'll do my best."

They pulled away, Loriel wiping away tears, and Mel took the opportunity to scrub the moisture from her own eyes.

"May the stars light your path and guide your heart, Mel, until we meet again," Loriel said, dropping a brief curtsy before she slipped away, shutting the door with a soft finality that Mel felt in her chest.

Mel tried not to let her thoughts linger, buckling her sword belt and slinging her pack over her shoulder before she strode to follow in Loriel's footsteps. But she paused at the door, just for a second, and looked back. A soft breeze blew the bed curtains and wafted by, green and fresh from the garden beyond, rustling the tapestry by her head. She watched the circle of maidens dance in thread around their shimmering green mistress and she slowly, tentatively, reached up to brush the face of Yavanna, still and peaceful in her garden.

" _Help me,"_ she thought, as hard as she could, _"Please. Please, help me."_

But there was no answer. Just as she'd known there wouldn't be. She was on her own. Mel dropped her hand, adjusted the strap on her shoulder, and marched out into the Citadel.

She headed toward the stables, not really sure what she was supposed to be doing. She hadn't seen Boromir all day yesterday, and she was starting to suspect that might have been intentional. Did he think that if he didn't speak to her about it, she simply wouldn't come? She had hoped they were past all that, but…

Mel pushed her way through a flurry of soldiers and stable hands just inside the doors, and froze. Legolas was there, saddling a pretty white mare, Gimli waiting at his side. She only had a fraction of a second to consider her options (which were very few) before Gimli spotted her.

"Ah, Mel!" he cried, waving in her general direction.

Legolas glanced up from the saddle and smiled at her, perfectly friendly, perfectly normal, as if they hadn't just been on the verge of a fight last time they had spoken. Mel took a moment to let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding before she returned the smile and walked over.

"Come to see us off, lass?" Gimli asked, leaning on his ax with a little smirk on his face.

"See you off?" Mel asked, letting a little indignation bleed into her voice, "Master Dwarf, if you think for one second that I am going to just stand here and let you ride off to claim all the glory of this battle for yourself, you are quite mistaken!"

Legolas stopped in the middle of cinching his horse's girth. He didn't turn, didn't look at her. He just stood there, frozen mid-pull. Mel's stomach clenched nervously. Gimli, however, didn't seem to have noticed the silent distress of his friends. His face lit up and he clasped Mel's arm, shaking her good-naturedly.

"That's the spirit! Knew we couldn't leave you behind! What did I tell you, lad? They'll be no leaving Mel behind, that's what I said!"

Mel was smiling in the direction of Gimli, but she could almost feel Legolas breathing beside her. He still had not looked at her and she was afraid to watch him too closely for fear of what she would see. He shifted slightly and Mel risked a quick flick of her eyes in his direction. His eyes were closed, his shoulders hunched, his long fingers gripping the saddle with white knuckles as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

"Mel."

When he spoke her name it was with a soft tremble, as if he was trying to sound reasonable despite a host of other emotions. She finally looked at him directly. He opened his eyes and stared at her, his blue eyes wide in his pale face, his lips set in a thin line. He looked scared. Really scared. So scared that when he reached out and took her hand, Mel didn't have the heart to pull away.

"Mel, please don't do this," he whispered, "Please, you… what we face, the likelihood of our return…"

"It's no worse than what the Fellowship faced leaving Rivendell," Mel said, "You were happy enough to have me along then."

"That was different."

"How?" Mel asked, a little of her frustration bleeding into her voice, "How was it different, Legolas? We're going to the exact same place, to face the _exact_ same danger…"

"That was stealth and cunning," Legolas insisted, his grip on her hand tightening, "This is war, battle and blood, and I am asking you Mel, please _don't do this._ "

His jaw was set, not in anger but in fear, and Mel wanted to reach out to him, to touch her hand to his cheek and sooth him somehow, but she had no words to comfort him. If she didn't go, he might die. If she went, he might still die, but at least she would know she had done everything in her power to save him. She squeezed his hand and managed to smile through her own fear.

"I don't have a choice."

She tried to walk away, but Legolas wouldn't let go of her hand.

"You always have a choice," he said, tugging her back, his voice ringing against the stable walls, "Always! Don't do this, Mel, please, I'm asking, I'm _begging_ you…"

"Legolas, let me go."

She tried to pull away, but his grip on her hand only tightened. It was starting to hurt and Mel didn't think he even knew he was doing it.

"Mel, please…"

"Let her go, lad," Gimli said gravely, "You know how she is, once her mind's set on a thing…"

"But she can't _possibly_ …!"

"Legolas."

Boromir's voice rumbled through the air like thunder. Mel turned toward it and then kinda wished she hadn't. His face was as dark as his voice, his eyes flashing, his gloved fist clenched over his sword hilt. Legolas met his gaze with fiery anger, but he let go of her hand. Mel took a step back and tried to rub feeling back into her tingling fingers.

"This is how you honor our agreement?" Legolas asked furiously, "This is how you keep her from harm? You know what this is, how it will end!"

Agreement? What agreement? Mel's eyes flicked between Legolas and Boromir. They had made some kind of agreement… about her? When exactly had that happened?

Boromir narrowed his eyes and his voice was low and dangerous.

"As Gimli said, Melody knows her own mind. Would you imprison her against her will?"

Legolas opened his mouth, paused, and then shut it again. Boromir was standing very still, his hand still resting on his sword. They glared at one another for a long moment. Mel felt as if the air in the stable was about to smother her. Then Legolas turned abruptly, finished tightening the saddle girth, and led his horse out of the stable, brushing past Boromir without a word or a glance. Gimli shifted uncomfortably, and then gripped Mel's arm in his gloved hand.

"For what it's worth, lass," he said gruffly, "I would not have you left behind for the world."

Mel smiled and squeezed Gimli's shoulder.

"I am honored to ride into battle with you, Gimli, son of Gloin."

The dwarf grinned, and then slipped out the door after Legolas, nodding to Boromir as he passed, a gesture Boromir returned, but barely. Only once they were both well out the door did he seem to finally relax. He loosened his grip on his sword hilt and strode toward her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, gently taking the hand Mel was still massaging absently.

Mel stiffened, but didn't pull away, letting him turn her fingers over in his much larger hand.

"No, of course not," she said, "Legolas would never hurt me. He's just scared."

"We are all afraid, Melody," Boromir said, his tone tense.

There was a pause.

"He said something about an agreement?" Mel asked, "What agreement?"

Boromir sighed as if he had been dreading this, and pulled her hand to his chest.

"Before making the journey up the slopes of Caradhas, Legolas came to me. He told me you felt fear when Saruman's spies passed over us."

Mel remembered. She remembered the paralyzing terror that had gripped her, the first time she had feared for her own life. She remembered shivering in Legolas' arms and his gentle voice whispering in her ear.

_Do not despair, mellon-nîn. Your friends are with you. We will see you through to the end of these dark days._

"He took an oath from me that day," Boromir said, "That together, we would keep you safe,"

He paused and then dropped his eyes.

"To my shame, I have not done all I should to keep my share of our bargain."

Mel felt a smile tug at her lips, but she resisted it. They were trying to help her. And it was true, in those early days she had needed all the help she could get. But now, as much as she still wanted, probably even _needed_ it, they couldn't help her now. She brushed her fingers against Boromir's cheek and he lifted his eyes to her.

"Things were different then," she said, "I was a different person. You guys can't keep trying to protect me from everything, it's not gonna work. We protect each other now. I watch your back, you watch mine and that goes for Legolas too. Whether he likes it or not."

Boromir let out a long breath and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm.

"I know," he whispered, "You are so much more than you once were, Melody, I know that. But it is difficult, even for me, knowing…"

He paused rubbing a small circle on the back of her hand with his thumb.

"I confess a small part of me had hoped not to find you here."

Mel smirked and squeezed his hand.

"You should know better."

He smiled, albeit reluctantly.

"I knew the likelihood was small, but I still held hope," He cupped her face in his hand, "But here you are, and I discover now that there is no one else I would rather make this journey with."

Mel's chest filled up with warm flutters as Boromir leaned down and kissed her softly.

He left her standing in a little bit of a daze while he found them horses, bringing Mel the same war horse that had led her into battle on the Pelennor Fields. Together they tacked up and rode down to the first level, where others were starting to gather before the main gates. There was a large group of riders, but Mel was surprised at the number of soldiers on foot. Mordor wasn't exactly a short jog from the city. This was going to be a much longer march than Mel remembered.

Work had been postponed on repair of the gates, but they could at least be opened and closed relatively freely now. Mel dismounted, leaving her horse with one of the young pages running around, and wove her way through the crowd until she was able to step outside the gate. She could feel the energy crackling in the air around the single tree standing guard. She placed her hand on his blackened trunk.

" _Hello, Andonil."_

He shivered under her touch and she heard his branches creaking above her.

" _Greetings, Calenhiril."_

He sounded stronger and when Mel probed deeper she could feel the pulse of his life beating a strong rhythm. She smiled.

" _I wanted to make sure you were alright,"_ _s_ he said, _"I'm going away for a while. I don't know when I'll be back."_

" _You march to the Dead Land?"_

Mel guessed 'the Dead Land' was the name the trees had for Mordor. It seemed fitting.

" _Yes. I have to go."_

" _To save the ones you love."_

Mel jerked her hand away from the trunk, even though she knew it didn't really make any difference.

_"How do you know that?"_

" _We are the children of Yavanna,"_ Andonil answered, _"When her Daughter is distressed we are not deaf to her anguish."_

" _You can hear her?"_ Mel asked, suddenly anxious for anything, any connection to Yavanna at all, _"What does she say? What should I do?"_

" _She weeps for you, Calenhiril,"_ Andonil said, " _But her tears are silent. We know only that she weeps for your broken heart."_

Mel felt like kicking something. What was she supposed to do? Keep fighting? Give up? How was she supposed to do this, just choose between the two most important people in her life? How was she supposed to just watch them die? She couldn't. She just couldn't accept that those were her only options. There had to be another way. She pressed her hand to the blackened trunk once more.

_"I will find a way,"_ _s_ he said, " _Can you tell her that? Tell her I will find a way."_

"Mel?"

She jumped and turned. Elrohir stood at the gate, watching her with a furrowed brow. Mel smiled at him, trying to dispel any hint of lingering frustration from her face.

"Are they waiting on me?"

He shook his head and stepped through the opening.

"No, there is still time yet. Only I saw you slip away, and I wondered…"

He trailed off, his gaze wandering up into Andonil's devastated branches.

"I have heard the tale," he said, "The men speak in hushed whispers of the Sentries of Minas Tirith, Guardians of the Gate."

He reached out as if to touch the tree, but hesitated and then withdrew.

"I am sorry for your loss, vinimë."

It was so soft and sincere that Mel felt her chest heave with lingering pain, but she shook it off before it could filter down to Andonil.

"It's not so much my loss as his," Mel said, brushing her fingers along the tree's charred bark, "I should have protected them."

"They say you stayed to the point of death to keep them safe."

"It wasn't enough."

"If it was all you could do, then it was enough," Elrohir reached out and clasped her shoulder in his long fingers, squeezing gently, "You cannot save everyone, Mel."

"I have to," she whispered, wistfulness slipping into her voice, "There has to be a way."

"Hanar."

They both turned. Elladan was leaning against the gate, looking perfectly at ease except for his eyes, which were flicking back and forth between them in serious contemplation.

"We are ready."

Elrohir nodded and gave Mel's shoulder one last squeeze before he turned away. Mel looked back up into Andonil's branches, but she had no words for what she was feeling.

" _Farewell, Calenhiril,"_ Andonil whispered, _"I wish you fair skies and fine earth."_

Mel smiled. What a tree-ish thing to say. She reached out and pressed her hand to his trunk one last time, trying to radiate as much care and warmth through the skin of her palm as she could muster.

" _Until next we meet, Andonil, Keeper of the White City."_

When she finally turned away, she was surprised to see Elladan still leaning against the gate, his arms folded, watching her with those deeply intense eyes that somehow felt as if they were penetrating her soul. It was one of those exceedingly rare moments when Elladan looked just like his father. Mel managed a small smile as she approached him, but for one of the first times in their acquaintance, Elladan did not return the expression, which made her pause.

"What?" she asked.

He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side and a tiny frown furrowed his brow. Then he sighed, as if frustrated and reached out to clasp her shoulders in his hands, shaking her slightly, as if to emphasize an important point.

"Man cerig, maethoreg-nîn?" he murmured, in a frustrated tone, "Will there ever be a time that you do not worry me?"

Mel's smile twitched at her lips again.

"Den ú-iston, Elladan," she said, "Someone has to keep you on your toes."

His sudden laughter echoed against the stone walls and he clapped her shoulders good-naturedly.

"Tolo," he said, "They will be waiting."

They passed through the gates together and Elladan joined his brother, who was watching them with anxious eyes, and the two elves slipped away, whispering furtively in their own tongue. Mel's eyes found Boromir and she slipped up beside him, taking her horse back from the stable boy and checking his tack one last time.

"I thought you might have stepped outside for a moment," Boromir murmured, glancing over his shoulder toward the gates, "How does he fare?"

"He seems much better," Mel replied with a small smile, "I think he's going to be alright."

"Mel!"

Pippin's enthusiastic cry drew Mel's attention and she grinned as the hobbit hurried through the crowd toward her, decked out in his Citadel Guard uniform. What she wasn't expecting was Merry following behind his cousin, his face downcast and stormy.

"Mel, I'm going on the march!" Pippin exclaimed without even pausing to catch his breath, "Gandalf says I shall represent the Shire!"

Mel smiled at Pippin and tried to be happy for him, but her heart went out to Merry. She knew he was still far too weak to make such a journey, which meant Pippin would be going off without him. Again. And there was no chance of him following after this time. It had to be so hard for him. She took a moment while Pippin was rambling away at Boromir to grab Merry's shoulder and squeeze.

"I'm glad to see you up and about, Merry," she murmured with a smile, "You'll need your strength for the trip home."

He jerked his face up, his eyes wide, and seemed just on the verge of voicing a question…

But he never got the chance. A hush fell over the courtyard and through the crowd of soldiers Aragorn stepped out, leading his mount. He was dressed rather plainly, just a dark blue tunic emblazoned with the White Tree, but the hushed awe that followed in his wake gave him all the regal air he needed. Gandalf followed behind him, along with Prince Imrahil and Lord Eomer, and they all lined up next to Boromir, facing the army that was waiting for their order to march. Mel suddenly felt very self-conscious. This wasn't her place. She was no one. She shouldn't be here, standing with these men; leaders, princes, and kings. She must have shifted without realizing it because Boromir glanced down at her and, without a word, took her hand in his, gripping it tightly. She froze, and then let out a breath, long and slow. If Boromir wanted her there, then she would stay.

She caught a glimmer of movement in the corner of her eye and glanced toward it. Legolas had lined up on her other side with Gimli, and was adjusting his mare's bridle with fluttering hands. His eyes flitted her way, and when he caught her looking at him, he gave her half of a tentative, apologetic smile. Mel felt a weight lift from her chest that she hadn't even realized was there. Boromir on her right side, Legolas on her left… and Mel knew then that she was exactly where she ought to be.

"Raise the banner," Aragorn said, his voice resonating over the silent army.

Behind him, a large deep blue cloth was unfurled. It was the flag that had flown from the mast of the corsair ship, rippling lightly in the breeze that wisped through the courtyard, the jewels of the seven stars glittering in the morning sun. No one made a sound. No one moved. Mel was pretty sure every soldier was holding his breath. After a moment, Aragorn mounted his horse and the lords did the same, Mel following suit. Aragorn took a moment to cast his eyes over the army that had gathered, ready to defend Middle Earth, down to the last man if necessary. To Mel it seemed like a huge force, but she knew that they were tiny compared to the enemy they marched to face.

Finally, Aragorn turned his horse toward the open plains.

"Forward!"

Boromir put the Horn of Gondor to his lips and blew three long mighty blasts. The sound was deep and sorrowful, and reverberated in Mel's heart. The Last March of the Host of Gondor had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations:**   
>  _(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)_
> 
> mellon-nîn- my friend  
> vinimë- little one (Q)  
> hanar- brother  
> Man cerig?- What are you doing?  
> maethoreg-nîn- my little warrior  
> Den ú-iston- I doubt it  
> Tolo- Come


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you guys thought I was gone forever, didn't you? ;) Sorry, this chapter was hard for me, it took a lot of work, and the next few chapters are probably going to be hard too, but I'm going to do my very best to get at least a chapter a week out for you guys from now on! :)

**Chapter 26**

The company on horseback easily outpaced the men on foot, but no one seemed too worried about it so Mel tried to put it out of her mind. They stopped just outside Osgiliath at noon and the lords entered the city (Mel with them, sticking close to Boromir's side) to oversee the repair work that had been started in just the last few days. It made sense to start here. Even though Mel _knew_ the march on Mordor would be successful, if another attack were to be launched from the East, Osgiliath would be the first Gondorian stronghold the enemy would encounter, the first line of defense. They needed to be ready.

…or at least as ready as they could be. There wasn't much left. Men were scrambling over the broken stones, working desperately to repair collapsed bridges and secure fallen walls as best they could, but their resources were clearly limited and time was not on their side. Fortunately, there was now a dwarf among them. Gimli was quick to offer his expertise, tips for repairing the stonework quickly and efficiently. Mel watched him bustle and bluster from one group of grateful workers to another, a fascinated grin pulling at her lips. She had never seen him so focused and precise, clearly in his element, even if Mel didn't have a clue what he was talking about.

They had a quick lunch, during which time the foot soldiers appeared, and after a short rest they all set out again, marching until they reached a lonely crossroads, the sun low at their backs. Heralds were sent down each roadway and Mel could hear the echoes of their horns, declaring that the King had come and reclaimed the land. Then they broke for camp.

It didn't take long for Mel to realize this was not going to be as simple as traveling with the Fellowship. Their small group had always camped in the open, with nothing but bedrolls and empty space between them. But as tents started to go up all around her, Mel had a sudden suspicion that, while she had brought her own bedroll, sleeping under the stars was not going to be an acceptable option. She was soon proven right by the quiet, but fervent argument that she stumbled into as she was leaving the makeshift stable area.

"Where else would you have her?" Legolas hissed at a stony faced Boromir.

"Gandalf or Aragorn…" Boromir began, but was cut off.

"The wizard has _never_ approved of her presence, has even in the past shown her outright hostility," Legolas insisted, "And Aragorn… While I admire the trust you place in him, he is only one man, and a _king_ at that, leading an army into what might very well prove certain death! And you would place Mel's care and comfort at his feet as well? That is foolishness, Boromir, you know this! At least with me she will be…"

"As far from me as possible?" Boromir finished with a growl, "Is that your intention, elf?"

He spat the word as if it was a curse and Legolas glared at Boromir with such furious outrage that Mel thought she might be sick. She didn't want them to fight. Not about this. Not about anything having to do with her. Not them, anyone but them.

_Now the choice is laid before you…_

"Well, it seems it's down to us then."

Elrohir's voice drew Mel's attention to her left, which meant that Elladan's arm slinging over her shoulder from the right caught her off guard and she jumped with a squeak. Boromir and Legolas turned to stare at her and the twin elves that now flanked her on either side.

"What say you, maethoreg-nîn?" Elladan asked, grinning down at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously, "Will you stay with us?"

Mel blinked up at him for only a few seconds, and before she had really thought it through the answer was leaving her lips.

"Yes."

"Excellent!" Elrohir said, linking his arm with hers, "We have spoken to Aragorn, all has been arranged…"

"You had planned this all along?"

Boromir sounded just this side of furious, his eyes flashing as they flicked between the twins and Legolas as if he thought perhaps the elves had conspired against him in some way. But Mel had seen something in Legolas' expression slip, a flicker of surprise. He was just as shocked by this as Boromir.

"Well…" Elladan hedged, giving Mel a mischievous side-eye.

"…yes," Elrohir finished for him, "We have discussed the matter amongst ourselves, often and at length, since leaving Imladris."

"Mel has no family in this world," Elladan said, squeezing her shoulders affectionately, "And we are soon to lose a sister, through no fault of our own."

"In truth," Elrohir said, "We were never the brothers she needed of us. We spent many long years apart, each of us lost in our own grief."

"Such is our regret," Elladan murmured, with a touch more solemnity than usual.

"But since Mel's stay in our father's house, she has become quite dear to us," Elrohir glanced down at Mel and smiled, "We trust you know this, vinimë?"

Mel could find no words. Her throat had closed on her, but fortunately Elladan saved her from having to speak.

"And while we would never wish to take the place of the family that you have lost," he said, "While you are in need of guardians, we would be honored to fulfill that duty to you."

Mel tried to swallow the painful lump in her throat. Family. That's what they meant. They were… They wanted… _family._ Mel felt a wave of homesickness hit her in the gut so hard that tears burned the backs of her eyes. She started to tremble and she felt Elladan's arm tighten around her shoulders, felt Elrohir's arm in hers tense, ready to catch her should she fall. She looked at each of them, so alike and yet so different. She blinked back the tears and took a shaky breath.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely more than a rasp in her dry throat. She swallowed and her voice was stronger, "Thank you both so much."

"Melody…?"

Boromir's voice was cautious, concerned. Mel met his wavering gray eyes and nodded encouragingly.

"It's okay," she said, in what she could barely call a soothing tone, "It's the best way. You know it is."

Gradually his expression softened into resignation and he nodded, just as Mel had known he would. This made sense, in its own strange way. She was safe with the twins, safe from prying eyes and idle gossip, at least as much as she could be, given the circumstances and especially with Aragorn's approval. Her eyes flitted to Legolas, but found his expression unreadable. He was watching Boromir more than he was watching her and as the other's shoulders relaxed, the elf's did as well. He nodded decisively, before he finally met her gaze.

"It is," he acquiesced, "If it makes you happy, mellon-nîn, then I am content."

And without further comment (or acknowledgement of the scowl Boromir had now fixed on him), Legolas sketched a small bow and strode away through the bustle of busy soldiers. Once he had slipped from sight, Boromir fixed his glare on the twins on either side of Mel.

"She lacks for nothing," he ordered harshly, "And if any harm should come to her, I will hold you both equally responsible."

And with that he stormed off in another direction and was soon lost to sight as well. There was a moment of awkward silence.

"Well," Elladan said, sounding vaguely amused, "That was dramatic."

Elrohir rolled his eyes and tugged at Mel's arm.

"Come, vinimë, let us get you settled in."

* * *

The tent Mel was sharing with the twins was spacious, cozy, and conspicuously placed as far from Boromir's as possible. While the twins didn't actually say anything about this particular arrangement, Mel didn't have to be a genius to guess it had been done on purpose. She was silently grateful that the choice had not been up to her. Her relationship with the Steward's son had to be common knowledge now, and any hint of impropriety would only make Boromir's position more difficult, as well as bring her under scrutiny that she just couldn't handle right now. She had enough on her mind without having to worry about gossip. Just one less thing she had to think about.

Dinner with the lords and captains was taken in a large tent that seemed to be serving also as a council chamber. They spoke only of war and strategy, supplies and tactics, things that meant almost nothing to Mel. She sat between the twins, but even from across the table she could feel tension pulsing in every pointed glance Boromir and Legolas cast in her direction, and at each other, as they fought to catch her eye. She might have been able to handle it, if it weren't for the heavy cloud hanging over every word, every gesture, threatening to drift down and engulf her at any given moment.

… _the choice is laid before you…_

… _choose, Calenhiril…_

… _a life for a life…_

… _choose…_

She felt like her lungs were being pressed flat every time she thought about it. Her hands were sweaty. Every inch of her was shaking. How? How was she supposed to make this choice? How was she going to live with herself after…?

"Mel?"

Pippin's voice cut sharply through her thoughts. The hobbit had leaned over to look down the table at her, frowning with concern.

"Mel, are you alright? You just went white as a sheet."

Mel felt the room closing in on her, Elladan and Elrohir both murmuring quietly in each ear, Boromir's fingers gripping the edge of the table, Legolas nearly standing already, and she could feel their eyes, their worry, their love, she was drowning in it, suffocating…

She stumbled to her feet and the tent fell silent.

"I… I just need some air," she managed to mutter as she pushed back from the table.

So many pairs of feet stood with her that it made her dizzy, and she might have swayed if her hand weren't still gripping the back of her chair.

"I'll accompany you," Boromir said before anyone else could speak, already moving toward her, but she managed to wave her free hand and stop him in his tracks, his brow furrowed.

"No, I'm… I'm alright," she said, trying not to let it show that she was nearly gasping for breath. The air felt like hot cotton moving in and out of her lungs, "You should stay. I'll be right back."

She moved her other hand to Elladan's shoulder, keeping herself upright and forcing the elf back into his chair from his half-raised position. She met Legolas' eyes across the table and pinned him where he was, standing in his place as well.

"Really, I'm okay."

She made a point of directing her words straight at him, and he obediently dropped back into his seat. She couldn't breathe, and even though they didn't know it, they weren't helping. She just needed to get outside and _breathe_.

She slipped through the tent flap and sucked in the cool night air. It smelled fresh and green, despite the hint of smoke from the cooking fires burning the back of her sinuses. She could hear the murmur of the trees pressing in around them and she had the mad urge to just walk away, out into the trees, to be alone for a little while and pretend that none of this was happening. But of course she couldn't do that. Firstly, it was stupid dangerous. Anything could be out there, just waiting for her to slip out of the firelight. And besides that, pretending that this wasn't happening wouldn't make it go away, any of it. She would eventually have to come back, to face the same heart-wrenching decision that had been plaguing her mind and her heart for days.

What was she going to do? Without knowing the situation the Valar would put her in it was nearly impossible to come up with any alternate scenarios, a loophole out of taking the life she was being forced to choose. She was scared, more than she had ever been in her life, and the worst part was the crushing feeling of loneliness. She couldn't fathom placing this horrifying dilemma on anyone else's heart, not even the twins who were now the closest thing she had to family. And the two others that she most wished she could speak to were so completely out of her reach, it was like they were on another plane of existence. And soon one would be out of her reach forever. She had no one to confide in, no one she could really trust, no one…

"Mel?"

She jumped and quickly swiped away the tear that had dripped onto her cheek. Pippin had slipped out of the tent, soundlessly and apparently unnoticed, and now stood by her side, staring up at her with wide eyes in the dim shadows.

"Mel, why are you crying?" he asked, his voice trembling.

It took a long moment for Mel to understand why he seemed so frightened. After all, the choice had nothing to do with him. And then she realized, of course it wasn't her choice that frightened him. He didn't know anything about it. Her terror, her tears, her panic, in the situation they now found themselves in, had frightened him for an entirely different reason, one that she had not even considered until now, and she felt a stab of guilt for not realizing it earlier. She sniffed and then smiled at the little hobbit, gripping his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's got nothing to do with this, Pippin," she said, waving her hand around the camp, "Everything's going to be fine, really."

His face relaxed a little, but then his brow creased in puzzlement.

"But, why are you crying?"

Mel sucked a deep breath in through her nose.

"It's… complicated. Something to do with me."

"Is it because Boromir and Legolas keep fighting about you?"

Mel jerked, her grip on his shoulder spasming before she let go and crossed her arms defensively over her chest.

"I… They aren't…"

Pippin rolled his eyes.

"Of course they are. Everyone knows they are."

Mel felt a knot of embarrassed nausea roll in her stomach. Everyone? Oh lord, what a mess…

Pippin's face softened sympathetically.

"Are you going to have to hurt one of them?"

Mel hesitated, but then she nodded.

"Yeah," she sighed, "I guess I am."

"It's going to hurt you too, isn't it?"

Mel let out a shaky laugh that somehow turned into another sniff.

"Yeah, Pip," she said, "It's gonna hurt like hell."

Pippin reached out and took her hand in his, pulling it away from her defensively crossed arms.

"Well, you'll always have me and Merry," he said, smiling, "We won't fight over you, I promise. You'll never have to be sad because of us."

Despite the tears threatening in her eyes again, Mel felt a smile tug at her lips. She squeezed the hobbit's hand.

"Thanks, Pippin. That actually makes me feel better."

Pippin nodded solemnly.

"Good. Ready to go back in? You can sit by me if you like."

Mel's grin widened.

"Alright."

Pippin led Mel back through the flap. Boromir, Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir all stood to their feet, but Pippin simply tugged her past them and pulled out a chair for her right beside him. Mel sat, and only then did she meet their eyes in turn, not saying anything, but something in her face sat them each down one by one, with expressions of varying confusion and amusement on their faces. And as Pippin scooped a portion of stew into her bowl and began a constant stream of chatter in her ear Mel felt the dark cloud lift, if only for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations**
> 
> _(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)  
> _
> 
> maethoreg-nîn- my little warrior
> 
> vinimë- little one (Q)


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Feeling a little better the next morning, Mel insisted on accompanying the party of lords and soldiers making the short detour to Minas Morgul. Though no one seemed to understand why she should want to go, no one objected too strongly either. Mel knew the place was dark and vile, but it was important too and there was no way she was going to miss out on the opportunity to see it just this once.

The small company left the main body of the army at the crossroads just after dawn, and in just a few short hours they had reached the edge of the Morgul Vale. Though the sun was high in the sky now, the valley felt dreary, clouded in heavy shadows with no discernible source. The hordes that had once resided here were either dead on the Pelennor Fields or had fled north to join the rest of their Master's forces, but the tang of an evil presence still lingered in the air, sharp, almost metallic on the tongue. A stone bridge, pale and carved with horrible writhing forms and faces, spanned a small stream whose waters churned and steamed as if it had boiled up from some hot pit beneath the earth, but as they approached Mel felt a damp chill in the air and she shivered. The vapors were freezing cold. Both banks of the stream were covered in white flowers, not pretty, but twisted and grotesque in a way that was difficult to describe. A smell like rotting compost at the height of summer filled her nose, green and mildewed. Mel had to swallow back the bile she could feel at the back of her throat.

Aragorn ordered a halt just short of the bridge. The tower of Minas Morgul rose into the sky beyond the bridge, blacka and shimmering, but lifeless. Still it was a terrifying sight and Mel had to hold back another shiver. She wished for Boromir's hand in hers, but her pride wouldn't allow her to reach out for him. After all, she had been the one that had wanted to come here. And it was only a building, just a building in an empty valley. There was nothing here that could hurt them now.

After a long, silent moment, Aragorn motioned to the soldiers.

"Destroy the bridge," he said solemnly, "And burn the fields."

They scattered to obey, and within moments it was done. The stone supports of the bridge cracked and then crumbled down into the swirling water. The fields caught fire easily, the white flowers withering into charred ash as the flame swept through them in red waves. They stayed only long enough to ensure that the job was finished, then turned and headed back to camp. Mel glanced back only once, a final look at what had once been a beautiful, shining city, but was now no more than empty, blackened stone. Aragorn would order it destroyed completely when this was over. Mel could think of no better end for it.

* * *

The shadow of Minas Morgul stayed with Mel long after they had left the valley behind. For days she had nothing else to think about. The ride through Ithilien was not necessarily a bad one. The land was wooded and green with only a scattering of rocks to mark the foot of the mountains to the east. The weather was warm, but not hot, with fluffy clouds in a bright blue sky. But Mel could not seem to shake that feeling of misty gloom, a grim shadow that she just couldn't get out from under.

Her friends weren't much help, though they did try when they could. Mel rode with the company of Rangers from the North, under Elladan and Elrohir's command, but the twins' time with her was often limited by their duties to the men in their charge. In the same way, Boromir led the Gondorian soldiers and was similarly unavailable, except for quick glances and stolen moments. Pippin rode with Gandalf, who kept to Aragorn's side as often as not, and Mel felt she would only be in the way there. So Legolas and Gimli were most often her riding companions, having no soldiers to lead or orders to follow. And though Gimli did his best to keep her spirits up with rousing (and often exaggerated) tales of their adventures in her absence, Mel could not shake the feeling of inevitable despair that threatened to overwhelm her every time she saw Legolas smile or heard him laugh.

Even the trees were darker here, speaking only in hushed murmurs of discontent that seeped under Mel's skin and made it feel as if there were something lurking just beyond her sight. It kept Mel's mind open constantly, listening for any hint or sign of the trouble she was certain waited beyond every bend and dip in the road.

That's how she was the first to know about the ambush. It was late afternoon, the sun was sinking, and Mel was very much looking forward to making camp. She had barely seen Boromir all day, and the absences were beginning to wear on her. She realized that she was beginning to miss him and the thought terrified her. What if something happened to him? What if she had to make her choice and…? What if he…? She just needed to talk to him, to see him, touch him, just for a minute, maybe if she could just catch him before dinner…

That's when she felt it, a clamor of panic in her head so strong that she jerked her horse up short, her heart racing.

 _"They are ahead of you, Calenhiril!"_ one of the trees whispered frantically, _"Just ahead! They mean to take you by surprise!"_

"Mel?"

Legolas voice cut through her thoughts. He had stopped and both he and Gimli had turned back to look at her.

"Boromir," Mel said before she had a chance to think, a touch of the trees' hysteria finding its way into her voice, "I need Boromir."

"What is it, what's wrong?" Legolas asked, pulling his horse around, his eyes flitting to the surrounding forest.

But Mel didn't answer him. The clamoring whispers were ringing all around her, and she needed to find Boromir, they needed to stop, they had to stop.

She urged her horse forward, forcing her way through lines of soldiers, Legolas' voice calling out after her, but she could barely hear over the trees in her head. She had to find Boromir. She made her way through a sea of green and gold, and then silver and blue, until finally she could see him, speaking fervently with a captain who looked far too young for his rank, but Mel couldn't think, for a moment couldn't remember how to speak and tried to reach out to Boromir with her thoughts, as if he were a tree. But of course, he couldn't hear her.

"Boromir!" she shouted, when she remembered she had a voice besides the one in her head.

He turned and immediately she was glad she had come to him. Boromir would know what to do. He urged his horse toward her and caught her bridle to pull her up short.

"Melody, what's wrong?" he asked, in a tone that was both commanding and soothing.

"We have to stop," Mel said, "Tell Aragorn we have to stop."

He did not hesitate or question. The moment the words left her lips, Boromir wheeled his horse about and urged him into a canter, calling out for Aragorn and bringing the army to a sudden, jolting halt. Within minutes the lords had surrounded her and Aragorn was at her side, looking very grave.

"What is it, Mel?" he asked in a calm and steady voice.

"The trees," Mel said, "They say there's an ambush. A group of orcs and men, waiting for us just beyond these hills."

"We have scouts out ahead," the young Lord Dervorin said, with a touch of arrogance, "If there were a trap, they would have warned us."

No sooner had the words left his mouth, a man came galloping down the road and right into the midst of them.

"What word, Mablung?" Aragorn ordered.

"A company of orcs and Easterlings lie in wait beyond the ridge, my lord," he said breathlessly.

There was a moment of tense silence. Almost as one unit, the lords looked to Aragorn and waited. He hesitated only a moment before turning to Elladan and Elrohir.

"Take the Rangers and strike out westward. Mablung will go with you and show you how best to skirt the enemy. The rest of us will continue forward and meet you on the other side of the pass."

The twins exchanged a devious grin and hurried off to gather the Rangers. Aragorn turned his attention to the rest of the lords.

"Make your men ready. We ride in half an hour."

Most of the lords scattered, but Lord Dervorin paused before Mel just long enough to give her a small, expressionless bow, before he too hurried off to prepare his men. Mel could not bring herself to resent the young man, though this was not the first time he had doubted her judgment. After all, if she were in his position, she probably wouldn't believe her either.

It didn't take long for word of a battle to spread, and some were decidedly more excited at the prospect than others.

"Finally going to see some action around here!" Gimli muttered from his perch behind Legolas, gripping his ax tightly.

"I think you'll see plenty of action before this is over, Gimli," Mel said, grinning despite the knot in her stomach.

"Aye, true enough, lass. But all this riding for days on end, it's not good for the muscles. Got to stay limber, you know!"

Gimli stretched out his arms in demonstration and nearly went tumbling off the back of the horse. He was able to catch himself on Legolas' tunic, and Mel was able to smother her giggles beneath the dwarf's harumphs and grunts of indignant disapproval. She managed to get herself under control and only then did she notice that Legolas was smiling at her as if he had never seen her before. Mel felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

"What?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant, but it came out more like a scared squeak.

Legolas shook his head, still smiling.

"You are a wonder, Mel, truly."

"Surely it has not taken you so long to realize it, Legolas?"

Boromir had appeared at Mel's side, his voice light and crisp, but something in his eyes was hard and dark and she didn't like it. She liked even less the icy chill that glazed Legolas' features as he fixed his eyes on Boromir.

"Oh, of course not, Boromir. But you must admit she has come far since Caradhras, don't you think?"

Boromir looked down at Mel and something must have shown in her eyes, because his hardened gaze softened.

"Yes," he murmured, "Yes, she has."

Mel's heart fluttered, and then a jolt of panic shot through her like an electric shock. She couldn't do this. She couldn't make this choice…

A horn sounded and Mel jumped, jerking her back to the present again. The army was moving. They were going into a battle, a small one, but a battle all the same. Was this it? Would this be the moment she would have to choose?

"In the absence of your guardians, Melody, I think it would be best for you to ride with me and my men," Boromir said, sounding formal and a little stiff, as if he weren't sure how his words were going to be received.

Her what? Oh, right, Elladan and Elrohir, off playing spy. She had nearly forgotten about that. She felt another little jolt of panic at the thought of leaving Legolas behind and her mouth worked without her permission, a tiny sliver of anxiety bleeding into her voice.

"Legolas, you're coming too, right?"

The look of confusion and hurt on Boromir's face almost made her wish she could take the words back. But she couldn't risk being away from either of them right now. This was too important.

Legolas smiled gently at her.

"Of course, mellon-nîn," he said, "We'll be right beside you."

"Not about to let you swan off and claim all the glory for yourself," Gimli said with a good-natured wave of his axe, "Right into the thick of things, that's where we're headed! Du Bekar! Haha!"

A smile twitched at Mel's face, but her stomach wouldn't stop churning and she was feeling a touch light-headed. She forced a breath through her nose and let it out slowly. It wouldn't do any good to pass out. Especially not in front of Gimli. She'd never live it down.

Together they rode to the front of the company and began the slow march through the hills. Every minute they moved forward felt like a year. The trees were still whispering in frantic voices and Mel tried to calm them, to reassure them that all was well, that there was a plan, that she was as safe as she could be. But the nervous energy was a constant fluttering in her head, making her heart pound against her rib cage. It was difficult to tell where the trees panic ended and her own began.

Finally, Mel heard a clash of metal and voices crying out in the distance. Aragorn drew his sword and the rest of lords followed. Mel's sword felt heavier in her hand than she remembered. She swallowed.

"Forward!" Aragorn shouted.

Boromir let loose a blast on his horn, and suddenly they were rushing headlong into a battle that was already well underway, catching the group of scattered orcs and Easterlings off guard as they swooped in and trapped them in the pass. Mel felt a familiar rush of adrenaline and she let it carry her along, raising her sword to strike at the first large orc that barred her path…

An arrow zipped over her shoulder and caught the orc in the chest. He dropped with a gurgle, Mel's sword still poised uselessly over him. Another orc just behind him heard the noise and charged, snarling at Mel, but he went down too, shrieking with an arrow in his eye. Mel's grip on her sword hilt tightened as a spark of indignation flared up in her chest, and two Easterlings this time went down by arrows. She finally turned in her saddle, just as another arrow whizzed past her ear and thudded into the neck of a tiny, chittering orc that had been about to threaten her. Legolas grinned, the string of his bow still quivering, but any sharp words Mel might have had for him were cut off. There was an orc. Just there, just behind him and he didn't see it, _couldn't_ see it because he wasn't looking, and the curved sword lifted into the air and she screamed.

"Legolas!"

The elf turned just as Gimli's axe came down with a hard clang on the orc's helm and the creature dropped like a stone.

"Got it!" the dwarf shouted, "And it counts double, since I saved your skin!"

Legolas turned a relieved smile toward Mel, which did nothing but fan her spark of anger into a burning rage.

"Melody!"

She turned and rammed her sword straight down into the throat of the orc behind her, spraying hot, black blood everywhere. Boromir caught her eye, but something in her expression shut his mouth tight. He only gave her a curt nod and turned back to what was left of the battle.

There wasn't much. Most of the work had been done before they'd even arrived. Mel yanked her sword back and the dead orc dropped with an unceremonious clang. Fury was pulsing in her temple. She jumped off her horse's back and wrenched the arrow from the eye of a dead orc close by, her hands shaking. She pulled two more from the pair of Easterlings and stomped toward Legolas, who had dismounted and was gathering more of his arrows from the orcs and men scattered around him. He looked up just in time to catch the arrows she shoved at his chest, covering his tunic in smears of black blood. His grin finally faltered.

"What the hell was that?" Mel said, trying desperately to keep her anger in check.

Legolas stared at the arrows in his hands, and then back up at Mel, clearly confused.

"What do you mean, mellon-nîn?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" Mel shouted, her anger boiling over, "That I'm some kind of idiot? Goddamn it, Legolas, you could have been…!"

Her voice broke, which only succeeded in making her angrier.

"Despite what you think, I am perfectly capable of keeping myself alive for more than five seconds without you hovering over me like I'm some kind of… weak-ass… GIRL!"

Legolas' eyes were wide, staring at her like she was someone he didn't even know. Which was apparently truer than Mel had realized.

"Mel, I… I didn't…"

"Never do that again," Mel said, her voice finally lowered to a reasonable level, "Never."

She turned and stormed off, tugging her horse behind her. She could feel hot, angry tears burning at the backs of her eyes, and after screaming at her best friend for treating her like a weak-ass girl, she certainly couldn't be seen crying like one. She heard Boromir call out to her, but she just put up a hand and kept walking, marching straight across the battlefield and to the other side of the hills before she stopped to catch her breath. No one had followed her.

She took a moment to compose herself. For a second all she could see was the curved sword of the orc that had nearly taken Legolas' life, and she felt sick. She bent over, hands on her knees, sure that she was going to throw up. If he had… it would have all been her fault, all of it, and she would never have been able to forgive herself. Ever. Her best friend, in the whole world, gone and she would never have…

She took several deep breaths and managed to swallow back her bile. She would apologize to Legolas later. But she couldn't allow him to make that mistake again, risking his life for the sake of her own. Was she really so different now than she had been before, when they had traveled together in the Fellowship? She tried to think back, but so much had happened since then, it was hard for her to tell. Maybe she was just too close to it, all of it. She had changed, she knew that. She supposed that Legolas couldn't really be blamed for not realizing how drastic that change was.

After several more deep breaths, Mel finally felt ready to come out of the scrub. The men had moved a little distance from the battleground and begun to make camp. Tents were being erected all around her and the first thing she did was find where the horses were being gathered and tend to her mount. The mindless task helped to calm her and she realized with a spark of relief that the choice had not been given to her today. She still had time left. How much time was still a mystery and that made her anxious to find and apologize to Legolas sooner, rather than later. She didn't want anything between them if she could help it.

She made her way to the center of the rapidly forming camp and found him oiling his bow just outside the tent he shared with Gimli. He heard her approach and leapt to his feet, his face anxious. But before he could speak, Mel cut him off.

"I came to say I'm sorry," she said, "I shouldn't have shouted at you. It isn't your fault that I…"

"But it is!" Legolas said, taking a desperate step forward, "It is my fault, mellon-nîn. I was acting a fool and I…"

He paused, as if searching for words. Then he took another step and took both her hands in his, a small smile on his lips.

"You are like no one I have ever met, Mel. And for a moment, in my fear, I lost sight of that. You are precious to me and I acted selfishly, without thought. Goheno nin, mellon-nîn, for forgetting what it is I love so much about you."

There it was. Mel felt her breath freeze in her chest. He was staring at her so hopefully, so innocently, as if the word that had just left his lips did not mean what Mel knew it did. They had never gone back to that conversation they had started on the battlements of Minas Tirith, hadn't had a chance between preparations and the march. But she didn't want to do this, not now, not when all she wanted was for them to be friends again, just for a little while longer…

Before she could speak, a chill passed over her so suddenly that she gasped and Legolas had an arrow pulled back on his bowstring faster than Mel could follow, his eyes scanning the darkening sky. Another chill cut through her and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep from shivering to pieces. The entire camp fell eerily silent; a grim cloud seemed to have descended on all of them. Finally Legolas lowered his bow, but his eyes were still trained on the open sky. Mel tried to follow his gaze, but she didn't see anything.

"Nazgul," Legolas said, his voice dark and dangerous, "Too high to catch with an arrow."

"A scout."

The voice behind them was Boromir's. He walked up and almost absently put an arm around Mel, pulling her close to dispel the chill she could still feel running under her skin. She caught a flash of something in Legolas' eyes before he turned back to the sky, but Boromir didn't seem to notice. He kept his arm around her and his eyes on the sky, though Mel knew he couldn't see any more than she could.

"They will have seen the skirmish," he said, "Report back to Sauron with our strength and number, keep an eye on us."

"You mean they're going to follow us?" Mel asked, feeling a cold drip of dread creep down her spine.

Boromir nodded.

"That is highly likely. Sauron will want to keep a watchful gaze on our approach."

Mel shivered again. Wasn't it enough that she carried her own darkness within her? Now another darkness had to shadow her too. How was she supposed to think? She could feel herself spiraling down into that crushing panic that was becoming so familiar. She just wanted it to stop. She just wanted…

"I… I need a minute."

She turned out of Boromir's hold on her and left them both behind, trying not to feel their eyes watching her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations**   
>  _(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)_
> 
>  
> 
> Goheno nin- forgive me


	28. Chapter 28

Boromir was concerned, though he tried to keep it hidden. He feared it would only upset Melody more if she knew of his concern for her. That was where the elf had failed. He had shown too much of his concern, and to Melody that was a mark of her own weakness. The last thing she had ever wanted was to feel weak or be perceived as such by anyone else, striving always to be an equal in a world she barely understood. And for the most part she had succeeded. She had changed, adapted, become so much more than the lost, frightened girl Boromir had found wandering the woods of Rivendell.

But knowing this about her did not mean that he was not still concerned. Nor did it mean that he knew the right way to ascertain the source of whatever was troubling her. For she _was_ troubled, that much was clear. She had been retreating slowly from everyone around her, even Pippin whom she loved so dearly, and Boromir felt a pang of guilt that he had not noticed it sooner. He had been drawn away too often, by his post and his duty, leaving her in the care of her new guardians, whom he trusted but could not be expected to know everything of her. Though it was clear the sons of Elrond cared for Melody, it had been many weeks since they had last spent time together. They simply did not know her as Boromir did.

But even he was at a loss to determine the root of Melody's distress. He hesitated to even brooch the subject, for fear of pushing her even farther away. But he resolved to make himself more available to her in the hope that, when she felt it was time to reveal the source of her melancholy, she would come to him. He felt confident that she _would_ come to him, when she was ready. His confidence only faltered when he considered the possibility that she might wait until it was too late for him to help her. But he pushed these worries aside as quickly as they arose. He loved her and he trusted her judgment. He would wait until she came to him, because that was what she needed him to do.

So in the days following their skirmish he stayed close to her side as much as possible, waiting for the time to come when she might need him. But Legolas seemed to have reached the same conclusions, and in much shorter time than he. The elf had been keeping close to Melody all this time, unfettered by duty or responsibilities, and it grated on Boromir's nerves. The weight of his mother's ring swinging from his belt made him anxious for time alone with Melody, something that neither propriety nor the elf-prince seemed willing to allow him. Despite Melody's assurances, Boromir knew a rival when he saw one and it irked him. However, he did not dare make his irritation known. It would do nothing to strengthen his standing in Melody's affections, only make it appear that he didn't trust her, something which was completely untrue. So he managed to keep his peace… at least, until they reached the Morannon.

The forests of Ithilien came to an abrupt end on the fourth day of their march, and the army of the West was faced with nothing but unending plains of black rock and ash as far as even elven eyes could see. The chill of the Nazgul presence hung like a damp cloud in the air, a steady drizzle of dread that couldn't be seen, only felt. The men stopped and when Boromir glanced behind him, he saw so many frightened faces, so many men who had not expected this. And he knew that he could not rally their spirits. Not even the Horn of Gondor, the symbol of his family's power for generations, would be enough to bring back the courage of these men.

Then out of the silence, Aragorn's voice rang out.

"If there are those of you who would travel no further, go! But keep what honor you may and do not run! There is a task which you may attempt and so be not wholly shamed. Take your way southwest until you come to Cair Andros, and if that is still held by enemies as I think, then retake it if you can, and hold it to the last in defense of Gondor and Rohan!"

There was a murmur among the men, some quickly taking up their arms and gathering together to the southwest, preparing to make their way to the stronghold at Cair Andros. But there were a few for whom Aragorn's words seemed to have resolved them otherwise. Their faces hardened and their stances became that of braver men who would not turn away, not even to an honorable charge. Boromir felt his heart swell with pride for these men. He hoped they would live to see the results of their courage.

He caught a glimpse of Melody's face, sad but resolved, as her gaze swept over the men that remained in their company. She knew what he knew also, that most would not survive this march. And he felt a sudden impulsive desire to send her with the others, to the southwest, to Cair Andros. Though it was held by the Enemy it could be no worse than that which they went to meet. But he managed to hold his tongue, for he knew that she would not go. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the way she held her shoulders, the brief spark in her lovely eyes. It was a look he knew very well, a look of fierce determination that would not be swayed. Anything he said or did to move her would be a wasted gesture.

Legolas however, seemed not to recognize it. The elf edged his mount up on Melody's other side and leaned toward her.

"Mel," he murmured, so low that even Boromir could barely hear, "Perhaps you might serve better along the southwest road. The trees could…"

But he was cut off by the flash of fire in Melody's eyes as her head snapped toward him. Boromir recognized that look as well, knew what sort of explosion might result if the situation were not doused in some way.

"Melody…" he cautioned, hesitantly.

Her furious eyes whirled toward him, burning viciously. He held up a hand, attempting to ward off her anger before she lashed out at him.

"I am sure Legolas only means to settle your mind. You have been quite remote of late."

"Yes, your mind is not at all where it should be," Legolas broke in eagerly, causing her glare to swing his way once more, "Perhaps holding Cair Andros…"

Boromir tried to stop him, but it was far too late for that.

"You want me to run?" she snapped, "I came all this way, and you think I'm just gonna turn back? _Now_? After… After everything I've…"

She bit back whatever angry words had been on her tongue, a mixed look of anger and horror on her face. Only now did the elf seem to realize his mistake. Boromir could see his mind working behind those large blue eyes, trying to think of a way to remedy his error, but Melody did not give him the chance. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a dangerous murmur.

"I wouldn't turn back now if Sauron himself came out to face me. For better or worse, elf-prince, you're stuck with me."

Her choice of words struck Boromir a fierce blow. So casually spoken, but for Boromir they were layered with more meaning than Melody could ever know. For better or worse… marriage vows. And she had spoken them to Legolas. No matter how angrily she had meant them, the words spoken to his rival made a part of him very angry, not at Melody, for how could she know the impact of her words? No, in lieu of any real target for his anger, he directed it instead toward the recipient of those words, toward Legolas.

It boiled just under the surface of his thoughts as they made camp there at the edge of the desolation. He found himself reliving all the grievances of the elf upon not only himself, but upon Melody. Pressing his lips to her scar on the fields of Pelennor, his insistence on continuing this subtle courtship of her even after her rejection, his persistence in being present during every moment of their precious time together. All of these things seemed to build up and expand until they filled every part of Boromir's mind.

And then these swirling thoughts seemed to culminate into one furious revelation. Was it possible that Melody's troubled mind was, at least in part, due to this petty rivalry? Her melancholy and subsequent withdrawal had begun in Minas Tirith, following the elf's return. And Boromir knew that, though Melody treasured all of her friends, she cared for none so much as Legolas. If she were forced to break ties with him over something such as this, it would break her heart.

The possibility that this ridiculous conflict between himself and the elf might be the cause of Melody's recent distress resolved Boromir's mind. It was unacceptable. Something had to be done. And he had always been a man of action.

That evening, after they had dined and in a moment when Melody was safely ensconced in conversation with Pippin, he took the elf's elbow so he would be sure to have his attention.

"I need to speak with you," he said in a low voice.

Legolas smiled amiably, as if nothing in the wide world were amiss.

"Of course, my friend. What would you like to discuss?"

Boromir's eyes darted to Melody, who was now looking at them both with a slightly worried expression on her face.

"Not here," he said, his voice still low.

Legolas followed his eyes, and then nodded.

"As you wish."

They left the tent together and Boromir began to walk briskly through the camp, Legolas easily keeping pace with him. The night was cool, but the heavy veil of fear that came from Nazgul's watchful eyes made the air feel oppressive. Or perhaps it was the weight of Boromir's thoughts that made it seem so. After several long moments of silence, Legolas spoke.

"Now, what is it that you would say to me, Boromir, that you would not have reach Mel's ears?"

Boromir kept walking. If Melody had followed them, he did not want her to catch up.

"It is about Melody that I wish to speak."

"Ah, have you finally noticed it then?" Legolas asked, "For one who claims to care so deeply for her, it has taken you an awfully long while to notice her shift in disposition."

The trite tone of his voice, edged with disdain, sparked a fury in Boromir's chest, but he managed to contain it.

"I have been aware of Melody's distress for some time. I had thought it best to wait for action until such time as she deemed it necessary to come to me with her burden. However, it has recently occurred to me that the source of her melancholy might be between us."

Legolas shook his head, "I don't what you could possibly mean."

"Don't you?" Boromir snapped, "You must be aware that your actions since your return to us have been a cause for friction. Have you thought through the consequences of your continued persistence in pursuing Melody's affection? Have you thought of what it might mean to her?"

"I am aware of no such thing," Legolas insisted stubbornly, "And as for considering consequences, have you considered your own, Boromir? For from where I stand, only one of us has ever given Mel cause to question his affection, and it certainly is not me. Perhaps if you had loved her all along…"

It was then that Boromir lost his temper. He whirled about and his fist connected solidly with the elf's jaw. Legolas stumbled back, but Boromir caught the front of his tunic and jerked him upright.

"I have always loved her!" he shouted, "My love for her has triumphed through madness, shame, and utter despair! You can never love her as I do! _Never!_ "

He shoved the elf away and turned for a moment to collect himself, his chest heaving with a heavy, burning rage. It would not do to draw a crowd. Besides, Melody would be very upset if she knew they had been fighting.

When he finally felt he had control of his emotions once more, he turned back. Legolas was staring at him, his fingers absently touching the place where Boromir's blow had landed. His face had become an emotionless mask, an expression that his kind seemed to have spent millennium perfecting.

"You have her heart, Legolas," Boromir said, feeling the words come to him albeit reluctantly, "You must know this. It may not be in such a way as you would like, but you have it none the less. You are her most trusted friend; to part from you would destroy her. Is that not enough?"

For a long moment, Legolas did not speak. Then, finally, a small, reluctant smile touched his lips, softening his expression as he shook his head.

"Of course," he murmured, almost to himself, "I am such a fool, of course you wouldn't understand. The race of Men can be so narrow-minded, particularly in matters such as this…"

Boromir could feel his anger rising again, but before he could respond, Legolas met his eyes.

"I love her, Boromir."

His heart froze in his chest, as if a cold flame had encased it in ice, refusing to allow it to beat. His limbs were rigid, held back from violence only by the sheer force of his will, and Legolas seemed to perceive this, for he held up a hand, as if to fend off another attack.

"I love her," Legolas repeated, "But not in the way you have perceived it."

The thin strength of Boromir's resolve began to weaken. He could feel his fists begin to tremble at his side.

"Orenyanil."

The unfamiliar word, coupled with the desperate expression on Legolas' face, swayed Boromir's rising temper. He swallowed and reminded himself that Melody would not want them to fight.

"Orenyanil," Legolas repeated, "In the Common tongue it might translate into something like 'friend of my heart'. But to the Eldar it is… something more. I love her, Boromir, with the same strength as you. She is precious to me beyond measure, though it took our separation for it to become clear to me. But I do not desire her, beyond the wish that she be safe and well and happy."

Boromir stared at the elf. Some small part of him feared a trick, a ploy of some kind to lure him into complacency. But another part, a part that remembered the days of the Fellowship, the days before his madness, remembered also that Legolas was, above all else, his friend. When had he forgotten this, lost in his anger, his jealousy? The elf's earnest blue eyes were not the eyes of a trickster, they were the eyes of a companion who cared as much for the one he loved as he did, who would never intentionally do her harm, had protected her even from Boromir himself, was even now endeavoring to protect her. And Boromir, in his foolishness, had done so little to recommend himself to the one who held her in as much regard as he did himself.

Without knowing precisely why, he found his hand strayed to the pouch hung from his belt, working open the string and drawing from it the weight that had been his constant companion since their departure from Minas Tirith. He hesitated, and then opened the box lid, revealing the glint of silver and blue that rested inside, glimmering in the dim light of the campfires. He saw the same light reflected in the clear blue of Legolas' eyes as the elf regarded the ring with an expression of forced indifference. Boromir waited until those eyes rose to meet his own once more.

"So," Legolas said, his voice measured and controlled, "This is your intention?"

Boromir nodded, "It is."

"And it is your belief that she will consent?"

Those blue eyes narrowed briefly, his stance defensive, prepared to argue, to bring to light all of the reasons Boromir was unworthy of such an honor, all of his faults and mistakes. But Boromir knew all of these things. He was as uncertain as anyone what Melody's answer would be. So he answered honestly.

"I do not know. I know only that she is everything to me, Legolas. Without her, I am nothing."

Legolas considered these words very carefully, his eyes intense as blue flame in the dark. After several long moments, his stance relaxed marginally.

"Very well," he said, "If it is truly your intention to ask for Mel's hand, I will not keep you from it."

He held out his hand and after a moment, Boromir took it. Legolas held his grip for several moments.

"I know that she loves you," the elf said, his tone calm and factual, "And I would not wish to lose the bond of friendship that has grown between us all. So I will speak one final warning, Boromir of Gondor: Should you harm my orenyanil, in any way…"

His grip on Boromir's hand tightened briefly, like an iron band, before he released his hold, a small, but feral grin turning up his lips.

"You do not know the wrath of the Eldar, my friend."

Boromir dropped his hand and nodded his understanding. He had seen Legolas' wrath in the forest of Lothlorien, though he had not understood it then. It was swift and cold, with deadly precision, and he never wished to see it again. But if harm should come to Melody, by his hand or any other, he would welcome the elf's judgment and gladly. For without Melody, his life would lose meaning. Without Melody, there was nothing.

He turned and left the elf, the weight of the bag on his belt swinging in time to his step, as if counting out the rhythm of his anxious heartbeat, beating only for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Orenyanil" is a word I constructed using my limited knowledge of Quenya, and loosely translated it means "my heart (inner mind) friend". I've taken it to mean something a bit like a soulmate, but with no romantic attachment. I've always believed that elves have different definitions of love than us, and it has always been my intention that this is how Legolas feels for Mel, but in previous iterations of this story it was difficult for me to express this. I hope this clears up some things about their relationship :)


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, so much stuff happens in this chapter! Good luck, ya'll. Elvish translations in hover text and at the bottom of the page ;)

Despite Elladan's and Elrohir's constant reassurances, Mel had spent a restless night worrying over the mysterious conversation that neither Boromir nor Legolas had returned from. The guarded expression on Boromir's face had worried her so much that she had tried to slip away after them, but her guardians had waylaid her at the tent entrance and prevented her escape. They had insisted it was for the best. Mel hadn't been convinced.

But next morning, Mel woke up and discovered that her panic had somehow hardened into a stubborn resolve. The loss of the trees' voices at the edge of Ithilien, replaced by the seemingly endless expanse of the Morannon, had made her predictably edgy, but she was surprised by how much their anxious whisperings seemed to have been affecting her thoughts. For the first time in days, she felt clear-headed, despite her worry about what had happened in the night between the two most important people in her life.

And though she would never admit this to their faces, it seemed that the sons of Elrond had been right. Flanked on either side by Boromir and Legolas, Mel could sense something on the morning air, a tenuous feeling of truce, and she was more relieved than she could possibly put into words, even if she knew it couldn't possibly last. Legolas' words still haunted her ( _…what I love about you…)_ , but she was having trouble finding time to speak to him alone. Even if she had been able to find the opportunity, she wasn't sure what she could say that wouldn't end in heartbreak and misery. She just couldn't make herself break the heart of her best friend, not now, not when any moment might be the last time she spoke to him.

She was almost certain now that her choice would come in front of the Black Gates. So many would die there, one more life, no matter how noble, would go almost unnoticed. Which meant that she had one more day before the choice was truly given to her, one more day to find some way out. There had to be a way. She couldn't face the thought of losing either one of them; stubbornly ignoring the possibility was the only thing keeping her sane.

By midday, Mel could hardly see even a hint of the tree line that they'd left behind and before them, barely a smudge on the horizon, loomed the dark mountains that separated Mordor from the plains. The Morannon was the darkest, most forbidding place Mel had ever seen. It made her feel isolated, though she road with an army of thousands, and added to it were the chills running in little ripples down her spine from the Nazgul high overhead. She wanted to reach out to Boromir, to feel him near her, to hear his heart beating in his chest and his voice whispering in her ear. But all day, Boromir had been distracted and distant. Though he stayed close to her side, his eyes told her that he was far away in his own thoughts. Legolas also stayed close by, even smiling and offering conversation on occasion, but he seemed to be keeping his distance from her too. Gimli occasionally attempted to bridge the gaps of silence from the back of Legolas' horse, but eventually even the dwarf seemed to run out of words. Mel was left feeling very lonely.

By the time they made camp, there was no sign of anything but broken black rock in all directions. At a loss for anything else to talk about at dinner, Pippin kept up a steady chatter about the rocks and the Morannon and whatever else he could think to speak about. In the midst of yet another observation about how very _black_ it all was, Mel glanced up and caught sight of Boromir pulling both Elladan and Elrohir aside. It startled her so badly that she lost track of Pippin's voice, watching as Boromir leaned in to speak to her newly appointed guardians. Why was it that he seemed to have so much to say to everyone around her that he apparently did not want her to hear? Whatever it was, at least it seemed to sit well with the twins. They both grinned simultaneously and Elladan even clapped Boromir's shoulder as they murmured together. Boromir glanced up and briefly met her eyes. She smiled questioningly at him, and he returned her smile, but it was hesitant and... nervous. What was he nervous about?

"Mel?"

She blinked and turned her attention back to Pippin, who was smiling good-naturedly up at her.

"I lost you, didn't I?"

Mel smiled and gave his shoulder a friendly bump.

"Sorry Pip, I guess I just..."

"I am sorry to interrupt."

Boromir's voice suddenly so close made Mel jump. He was standing stiffly beside her, his hands clasped behind him, his eyes fixed on Pippin.

"Master Peregrin, I wonder if I might impose upon you to allow me a moment of Melody's time."

Pippin's eyes flicked back and forth between Boromir and Mel for several seconds. Then his youthful face broke into a wide grin.

"Oh! Yes, Boromir, of course, of course! I'll just… by your leave, my lady."

And with that the hobbit jumped out of his chair, bowed to each of them in turn (giving Mel an extra mischievous wink), and then vanished, slipping expertly through the gathering of Big Folk. Mel stared after him for several seconds, and then looked up at Boromir.

"What was that all about?" she asked, only half-joking.

Boromir blinked and looked down at her. He still seemed tense and nervous. Mel's smile faltered slightly.

"Boromir?"

"Would you like to take a walk with me this evening, Melody?"

It was Mel's turn to blink. They'd barely had a moment to themselves since leaving Minas Tirith, it seemed impossible that now, out of the blue, he should be asking her to take a _walk_ of all things. What in the world…? But then Mel realized that she didn't care. She didn't care why he was asking, or why he was so nervous, or why now. All she wanted was to spend as much time with him as possible.

"Absolutely," she said, "I would love that."

Boromir's shoulders relaxed (but only a fraction) and he offered his hand, helping her to her feet. As he held aside the canvas for her to pass, Mel glanced back and caught Legolas' staring from across the crowded tent, but not at her. His eyes were fixed on Boromir, so intensely Mel thought it might burn holes through him. It wasn't a look that she could easily attribute an emotion too, but Boromir seemed to interpret it perfectly. He nodded once, solemnly, before he followed Mel outside, letting the flap fall closed over Legolas' face.

He offered Mel his arm and together they strolled slowly through the camp, passing tents and small fires. The night was quiet and for a while neither of them spoke, so Mel used the time to simply enjoy Boromir's company. She hadn't understood how intensely she'd missed this closeness. In the last few days she'd almost completely cut herself off, not even realizing she was doing it, the choice weighing so heavily on her mind that she'd almost forgotten why it was so difficult in the first place. She loved Boromir. And the last thing she wanted was to push him away.

"I'm sorry," she said impulsively.

Boromir jumped, as if he had not been expecting her voice.

"Why?" he asked, sounding genuinely puzzled.

"I've been so wrapped up in… in what I'm going through. I'm sorry I haven't been able to spend more time with you. I've missed you."

There was a pause while Boromir considered her words.

"Truthfully, I feel I should be the one making the apologies. I haven't made myself particularly available. So much has happened so quickly, and my attention so often demanded elsewhere, I fear that I have neglected you."

"I never felt neglected," she said softly, "I understand you're busy."

"All the same, I am sorry."

Mel nodded. They walked on a little farther. They were nearly to the edge of the camp now. Mel could hear the horses shifting restlessly in their makeshift lodgings and out of nowhere a stray thought popped into her head.

"Happy early birthday."

Boromir stopped and stared at her, his face a mixture of surprise and revelation. Mel realized that he had actually _forgotten_ tomorrow was his birthday. The 25th of March. She could still remember the shock when he had revealed the information to her, that his birthday was on the same day that the power of Mordor would end.

"I didn't get you anything," she said, trying to fill the shocked silence that had fallen between them, "I haven't had time to think of a present. I'm sure I can fix that though, you know, once this is over and we're back home and I…"

He kissed her, cutting off her words and her breath, gentle but with a slight touch of desperation, as if he were pleading with her and still trying to savor the moment as much as possible. Mel felt her heart clench in her chest as she returned his kiss. She wanted to savor it too. It might be the last kiss they ever shared.

When they parted, Boromir pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes still closed, as if he were afraid to open them.

"I do not need a gift from you," he whispered breathlessly, "But there is something... I would like to ask."

Mel swallowed and waited, afraid to agree too quickly. If he asked her to turn back, she would have to refuse. She was pretty sure he wouldn't be that stupid, but she wasn't _completely_ sure...

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

"Melody," he said, "I love you, so very much. I never thought I could feel this much for another. I didn't understand it until we met."

He paused. Then he reached for something on his belt, a pouch, and from it he pulled a small plain box. Mel had never seen it before, but the way Boromir held it, delicately in his large hands, she knew it was something special. But nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

"No matter how long our time might be," Boromir said, "My only wish is to spend the rest of my life with you."

He opened the box, and for a split second time seemed to stand still. There was a ring inside. A beautiful ring of sapphire set in waves of silver. Mel couldn't remember how to breathe.

"Melody, would you do me the immense honor of becoming my wife?"

Her mind was racing and her heart was hammering and even though it felt like the world had come to a complete stop, it still felt like there wasn't enough time. Because Boromir was asking her to marry him. He was holding that ring, the most beautiful ring that Mel had ever seen, and asking her to be _his wife_ , to share this wonderful world, _his_ world with him. And in this brief millisecond of frozen time that was both too long and not long enough, she realized that there was nothing she wanted more.

"Yes," she said, finally able to pull enough air into her lungs to form words, "Yes, Boromir, I will."

She watched as all the anxiety, all the stiffness, all the nerves melted out of him in a single instant of pure relief, as if a great black cloud had been lifted and he was as bright as the sun. He gently pulled the ring from its box and slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly. Then he snatched her around the waist and spun her through the air, a deep, wonderful laugh bubbling out of him, made of pure simple joy. Mel was laughing too, burying her face in his neck, just loving the feel of being with him, knowing that, for the rest of their lives, she was his and he was hers. Finally, Boromir seemed to spin and laugh himself out and he set her down, but they still clung to each other, neither willing to be the first to let go.

"I love you," Mel murmured, her face still pressed to his shoulder, "I love you so much."

"I love you, Melody," he answered, "You have made me the happiest man in all the world this night. And I swear I will live the rest of my life only to make you as happy as I am."

The next kiss they shared was long and wonderful and Mel wished it could last forever. She felt as light as air, as if she might just float away if Boromir were not clutching her, tethering her to the ground. But eventually they did part, and arm in arm they began to walk back through the camp together. Mel glanced down at the ring on her finger, lifting it slightly as it caught the light of the passing camp fires. It really was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, the sapphire in the center cradled by waves of silver and tiny diamonds…

"It was my mother's," Boromir said, elation still apparent in his voice.

Mel jumped in surprise and stared at him.

"Really?"

Boromir nodded.

"My father has kept it all these years."

The weight of his words took a moment to hit her. Boromir had to ask his father for this ring. Which meant Denethor must have known his son's intentions, but he had given him the ring anyway. Mel wasn't sure what to think about that. Denethor had made it pretty clear that he was not her biggest fan. Was this some sort of ploy, a tactical move that she wasn't yet able to fathom? Or could it be that Denethor's love for his son had simply trumped his dislike of her? Mel didn't know. And at that moment, she didn't really care. Boromir loved her, and she was going to marry him, and nothing in all of Middle Earth could take that from her now.

They reached the cluster of tents in the center of the camp, and Boromir walked her to the tent she shared with the sons of Elrond. There was a light glowing beyond the canvas. Clearly they had waited up for her and Mel felt a bit of a grin spreading on her face despite herself. In the dim light, Boromir leaned down and kissed her, gently, softly, the most beautiful kiss of Mel's life. She wondered if every kiss they shared for the rest of their lives would be sweeter than the last.

"Good night, my love," Boromir whispered, in a voice that sent shivers down her spine.

"Good night," Mel whispered back, feeling inadequate in his wake. But his smile, so genuine and perfect, made her sure that she couldn't have said anything better.

He kissed her again, quickly, as if he needed just this last one to sustain him, before he turned and walked away into the darkness. Mel watched him until she saw his barely illuminated outline disappear into his own tent. She tried to smile, only to realize that she had never actually stopped smiling.

Just as she was about to turn and slip into her own tent, she heard a familiar voice call quietly out of the dark.

"Mel…"

It was like a damp blanket had been dropped on her, holding her heavily in place. Legolas stepped out of the shadows, and the expression on his face told Mel that he already knew. But he didn't look angry, or even heartbroken. He simply looked resigned.

He took a step closer, but remained just out of reach, his eyes searching her face in the dim light, for what she couldn't tell. Mel felt a flurry of emotion. The thought of losing Legolas filled her with a horror she couldn't quite describe. Fear segued into guilt. She hadn't expected any of this, could never have guessed, but somehow she still felt as if she should have warned him somehow, should have found a way to talk to him again, should have tried harder… But that guilt quickly gave way to a strange sort of anger. After all, she _had_ tried to tell him, _tried_ to warn him that his feelings were misplaced. She'd clearly spelled it out, why should she feel guilty for being in love with Boromir? But as usual, she couldn't stay angry at Legolas for more than a second, especially knowing what lay ahead for them, the terrible choice looming just out of sight. So she was left feeling lost and empty, not sure what to say or do.

Legolas, of course, was impossible to read, his expression carefully neutral. After a moment, he spoke.

"You have accepted him then?"

The words, though spoken calmly, almost flippantly, immediately put Mel on the defensive.

"Yes," she said, holding her head high, refusing to show how scared she was.

Legolas nodded, and then held out his hand to her.

"May I?"

It took Mel a moment to figure out what he meant. Finally, hesitantly, she held out the hand with the sapphire ring. Legolas took her fingers delicately in his own, turning the ring in all directions to examine it.

"It suits you," he said finally, his voice soft and gentle.

For a long moment he didn't release her hand. Mel felt tears sting her eyes.

"I love him," she managed to choke out.

Legolas nodded and squeezed her fingers gently.

"I know."

He looked up, a soft smile touching his lips and softening the blue in his eyes.

"I know you do, mellon-nîn."

He reached out with his other hand and brushed his thumb along her cheek. Mel felt the moisture of an escaped tear dry across her skin.

"No tears now," he whispered, "Not for this."

Panic constricted Mel's chest and she felt like she couldn't draw breath.

"I can't..."

She sucked in air and tried again.

"I can't lose you, Legolas," she managed to say, suppressing a sob, "Please, I just..."

His brow furrowed and his grip on her fingers tightened marginally.

"Sérë, orenyanil," he said, "What makes you think you would ever lose me?"

She stared at him for a long moment. What...? What did he mean? She didn't know the word he had used, _orenyanil_ , and she felt so lost...

Her confusion seemed to bring a sort of revelation to Legolas and he tilted his head.

"He didn't tell you."

Mel sniffed.

"Tell me what?"

To her surprise, Legolas actually smiled.

"Only that you need not fear, mellon-nîn," he said, "We have spoken, your meleth and I, and he understands my heart at last. _Orenyanil_ , it is a very special word used only for the dearest of friends, whose souls have been so entwined that no force in the world may tear them apart."

He took her face in both his hands and forced her to meet his eyes.

"It means that you will never lose me, Mel," he said, his voice low, but forceful, "Do you understand? No matter what happens in these days to come, I will remain by your side. Always."

Mel felt the words echo in her heart. _The dearest of friends_ … Legolas was her friend, her best friend, and she loved him. She had always known that, had never questioned it, just as she had never questioned her love for Boromir. But they were each a different kind of love, something she hadn't been able to put into words before. But the word Legolas had used… _orenyanil_ … something about it made her think, made her _hope_ for the first time in a long time, that she and Legolas understood one another again.

Maybe it was foolish. Maybe she was kidding herself. But Mel believed. She believed because she _needed_ to believe. She needed to believe that Legolas was her best friend again, her _orenyanil_ , and that nothing would ever separate them. She needed to believe that everything was going to be okay, that she would somehow make it through this nightmare, and everyone she loved would be safe.

For just a few moments, she let Legolas gather her into his arms, and she believed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations**   
>  _(all translations are Sindarin unless otherwise noted)_
> 
> mellon-nîn: my friend  
> sérë: peace (Q)  
> orenyanil: my heart (inner mind) friend (Q)  
> meleth: love


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long! I hope it's worth it! :)

**Chapter 30**

The twins were ecstatic beyond all reasonable expectation. Apparently, things like engagements were a pretty big deal to the elves, and neither Elladan nor Elrohir could contain their excitement. This, in a way, was a good thing because when Mel suddenly burst into tears in the middle of their enthusiastic congratulations, they took it as a sign of overwhelming joy instead of the mixed bag of emotion and exhaustion that it really was. They hugged her through her sobs and spoke loving words in a mix of Sindarin and the Common Tongue that Mel had trouble following, but she found comfort in them anyway and she had never felt more grateful for their presence than she did that night.

"It will all be alright, vinimë," Elrohir said, as he tucked a blanket around her in the lamplight, "Very soon now this darkness will pass."

"And the light will shine all the brighter for its absence," Elladan said, grinning as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, "Savo amdir, maethoreg-nîn."

The next day, Mel woke up and realized the twins were right. This was the day of the Ring's destruction, the day Mordor would fall, the day she would have to make her choice. And she was tired of being scared. She wasn't going to give in to it anymore, the despair and the fear that had been plaguing her every step. She was going to find a way out of this. There had to be another way.

The last march on the Black Gate was grim, the army silent as the walls loomed closer and closer. Boromir and Legolas rode by Mel's side as they traversed the last few miles, one on her right, the other to her left. The twins followed behind, leading the Rangers of the North. And just ahead Mel could see the glint of blue and silver from Pippin's Gondorian tunic underneath his Lothlorien cloak. For a brief moment Mel felt a heavy calm settle over her, surrounded on all sides by people that loved her and that she loved. She wished that she had been able to find Pippin before the march, that she could have hugged him one more time. She wished she'd had one more moment with Boromir, just one last kiss all to herself. She wished she had let Legolas braid her hair, as he had done so many months ago in Rivendell, before she'd even known that she was going to be making this heartbreaking journey. She wished she'd been able to hear a joke from Gimli, a poem from Elrohir, a song from Elladan. She wished she could somehow let all of them know how much they meant to her.

But there was no time now. And besides, words could never truly express how she felt in that moment.

They crested the last hill and Aragorn called a halt. The plain before them was silent, not even a breath of air disturbing the black dust. After several minutes in the stillness, Aragorn motioned the lords forward and Mel went with them, her desire to stay close to Boromir and Legolas mingling with a morbid curiosity. No one questioned her presence. As they descended the hill, Mel found she was riding beside Gandalf and Pippin, and she had a sudden thought, a small way she might be of some help to someone at least.

She leaned over in her saddle and hissed, "Pippin!"

The hobbit jumped and turned toward her, his face grim and his eyes wide under his Gondorian helmet.

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

He didn't even hesitate.

"Of course I trust you, Mel."

Mel had to suppress a grin. Gandalf was giving Mel a strange look, not quite disapproving, not quite pleased either, but Mel ignored him.

"Alright, listen," she whispered, "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you have to believe me that everything is going to be okay. Understand? You have to stay quiet and believe that everything is going to be fine. Can you do that?"

Even though he looked puzzled and slightly concerned, Pippin nodded.

"I believe you, Mel."

Mel allowed a smile to tug at her lips then and she nodded, straightening back up in her saddle. Gandalf looked concerned too, but he didn't say anything to her.

The group stopped within a few yards of the Gates and Aragorn called out, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Let justice be done upon him!"

A few seconds of silence, just long enough for Mel to wonder if something else had gone wrong, and then there was a horrible screech as the massive black gates swung outward. She tensed and her horse sensed it, fidgeting under her, but the gate only opened wide enough to allow a single rider to pass through.

At first it looked as if the horse and rider might be one being, but as they approached, easily and without any sign of haste, it became apparent they were separate but the same, both of the same intense black that seemed to suck the light out of the air around them. The rider's tattered robes fluttered around his skeletal frame, making him appear even more wraith-like, and a black helmet covered in spikes concealed his face. All except that wretched, oozing mouth.

Mel hadn't thought it was possible, but the Mouth of Sauron was even more terrible than she could have imagined.

He sauntered to a halt a few paces from their group and, though his eyes were not visible, he seemed to survey them with cold calculation. Then those awful lips spread into a grotesque grin that Mel was sure was not even remotely human, and when he spoke, his eloquent words were distorted by the black slime seeping through his gums and teeth.

"My master, Sauron the Great, bids you welcome."

He paused, as if waiting for someone to act pleased by this announcement. Mel managed a quick glance and learned a new level of respect for Aragorn when she realized that he was actually managing to look completely unimpressed.

The Mouth appeared irritated at their lack of enthusiasm. His overlarge head twitched on his skinny neck like a bird.

"Is there any in this rout with the authority to treat with me?"

Aragorn actually looked bored! Mel gave him back any brownie points he had not previously earned in her head. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and grab Boromir's hand in pure terror, but the look on Aragorn's face resolved her. If he could sit there and look bored, she could at least be still and not make a fool of herself.

Gandalf finally spoke.

"We do not come to treat with Sauron, faithless and accursed. Tell your master this: The armies of Mordor must disband. He is to depart these lands, never to return."

The wizard's voice was calm and authoritative, but the messenger of Sauron only grinned patronizingly with that strange, exaggerated mouth.

"Old Greybeard," he said, his tone even more patronizing than his smile, "I have a token I was bidden to show thee."

The Mouth reached into the folds of his robes and Mel braced herself, wishing that there was some way for her to reach out to Pippin, to give him some kind of signal, to let him know that this was the time to be brave, to trust her unwaveringly with the child-like faith that she loved so much about him. But it was too late. The Mouth of Sauron lifted Frodo's shirt of shining mithril into the air and Mel could feel the shock ripple through their group.

But instead of crying out, Pippin only turned and stared at Mel. She tried to tell him with her eyes that she knew, that she had known all along that this would happen, and that everything was still alright, just like she'd said. Pippin held her gaze for a few heartbreaking moments, and then hardened his expression. With a decisive nod, he turned sharply front and stayed silent, his back rigid with resolve. Mel let out a breath. At least she had been able to offer some reassurance to someone.

The others in the company were better able to hide their distress, though both Boromir and Legolas threw her a sidelong glances. She gave them both a tiny shake of her head and saw their faith restored. The whole company remained stubbornly and impassively silent.

Seeing that the mithril shirt had not incited the intended reaction, the Mouth's misshapen smile faltered slightly and Mel allowed herself a small touch of satisfaction. Attempting to recover, the Mouth tossed the shirt to Gandalf, who caught it easily, and continued on as best he could with the message he'd been told to deliver, still attempting to invoke horror in the hearts of his listeners.

"You should all know that the halfling suffered greatly at the hands of his host. Who would've thought one so small could endure so much pain?"

He turned his large head back to Gandalf, who still sat straight and tall on the back of Shadowfax.

"And he did, Gandalf," The Mouth hissed, menacingly, "He did."

There was complete silence. Not a single member of the group even flinched. Mel felt her chest swell with pride for all of them. Deliberately, Aragorn urged his mount forward, circling the Mouth of Sauron and considering him, still managing to look unimpressed, but maybe a little more irritated now.

The Mouth twitched his head in that strange bird-like fashion, following Aragorn's movements.

"And who is this? Isildur's heir?" The Mouth laughed cynically, "It takes more to make a king than a broken elvish blade."

Aragorn paused and seemed to consider this. Then in one smooth motion, he unsheathed his sword and relieved the Mouth of Sauron of his head. The ugly black thing rolled across the ground, barely distinguishable from the black rocks around it. The body soon followed it to the ground as the black horse reared up with a piercing scream and whirled back toward the Black Gates.

"I guess that concludes negotiations," Gimli muttered.

Mel had to work very hard not to laugh.

Aragorn turned to face the lords, his face grim and determined.

"I do not believe it. I will not!"

"Mel said that it's alright," Pippin said, turning back to Mel, his face finally showing the uncertainty that he hadn't allowed a moment ago, "It is, isn't Mel? It's still alright, isn't it?"

Mel wished that she could ruffle his hair then, but his helmet was in the way.

"Yes, Pippin," she said, raising her voice so the others could here, "Sauron is just trying to scare us. Frodo is still out there, still fighting. You'll all just have to trust me on that."

"Lassie, I'd believe just about anyone over that ugly beast," Gimli said, his voice laced with disgust, "If you say it is false, that's good enough for me."

"And me," Boromir said, his voice grim, but his face determined.

"And for me as well," Legolas echoed, smiling at her gently.

Gandalf nudged his horse a little closer to her, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of hope and faith.

"You have not yet led us astray, Melody Calenhiril," he said, "I do not believe that you would give us false hope now."

The screeching of the Black Gates saved Mel from trying to find an appropriate response. Slowly, they swung wide and the armies of Mordor began to pour out.

"Fall back!" Aragorn shouted, wheeling his horse, "Fall back!"

The group turned and raced back toward the hill, separating as they reached the army, each lord finding his men and working to pull them together. Boromir rode into the midst of the men of Minas Tirith and Mel followed.

"Stand steady men!" he said, his voice firm, but not unkind, "Steady your hearts!"

With only these few words, the shuffling men went still and fell into neat formation. Mel grinned proudly. They were a credit to their country and their Captain. Boromir's expression was calm, but grim as he looked out over the plains, quickly filling with the black hordes of Mordor. The army seemed to stretch forever, a never-ending sea of orcs and trolls and Easterlings. Mel felt her heart seize with a stab of fear. Their own army seemed like no more than a small band to her now. So many brave men, riding to their deaths…

Boromir reached out and took her hand. Mel looked up at him. He was smiling.

"I love you, Melody," he said, "No matter what happens today, I love you, now and forever."

Mel felt another stab of fear. It was time. She was now facing the very real possibility that she might lose Boromir. His life… his messy, imperfect, beautiful life might be snuffed out, unless she could find a way to stop it. She squeezed his hand tightly.

"I love you too, Boromir," she said, "I'll watch your back, you watch mine. Okay?"

He nodded. She knew he didn't really understand, but it was the only way she knew to tell him that she wasn't going to let him die. Together, they joined the rest of the lords at the head of the army of the West. Legolas was with them, Gimli still riding on the back of his horse. Aragorn was looking out over the still shifting and nervous army. He kicked his horse and rode before the soldiers.

"Sons of Gondor! Of Rohan!"

His eyes met Boromir's briefly and seemed to project his words straight toward him.

"My brothers!"

Boromir nodded to him and Mel saw something in both their eyes that she hadn't seen before: a deep respect. Aragorn turned back to the soldiers.

"I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when the courage of Men fails, when we forsake our friends, and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. An hour of wolves and shattered shields when the Age of Men comes crashing down, but it is not this day! This day we fight!"

He lifted his sword high. The lords unsheathed their swords, and Mel with them.

"By all that you hold dear on this good earth, I bid you stand, Men of the West!"

There was a shout from the army, and Mel shouted with them as a shiver ran down her spine that for once was not caused by fear. Finally, Aragorn, exiled Ranger from the North with no desire for power or influence or glory, had transformed into a king. She felt honored to have witnessed it.

Of course, in this solemn moment, Gimli chose to make a comment.

"Never thought I'd die fighting side by side with an elf."

Legolas grinned good-naturedly.

"What about side by side with a friend?"

Gimli paused and if Mel hadn't known any better, she would have sworn that his eyes got misty.

"Aye," he said, "I could do that."

Mel smiled.

"Yeah," she said, and Legolas turned to stare at her, all traces of his smile gone, "Me too."

Legolas' voice was grim, but gentle when he spoke.

"I will not leave you, orenyanil."

She nodded, "I know."

She knew because she wouldn't let it happen. Legolas would live, just as Boromir would live. She would find a way.

Gimli squirmed on the back of Legolas' horse, and then snorted.

"Get me off of this beast. I will die with solid earth beneath my feet, as a dwarf should!"

Legolas gave him his hand and helped him to the ground. The orcs had reached the army now, spreading out and enveloping them like a black sea. But the terror of the orcs was nothing compared to the terror growing in Mel's heart. When was her choice? How would she know? What…?

Aragorn turned and looked over them, his face serene.

"For Frodo."

Boromir placed the horn of Gondor to his lips and blew one long, final blast. It was deep and powerful, and seemed to embody all of the loss and the grief and the promise of revenge for the wrongs done upon the people of Middle Earth. The tone echoed against the rocks of the Morannon, reverberating through the hearts of all those gathered there. For just a moment, it made even the massive force of Mordor pause.

Then they were charging and Mel didn't have time to wonder anything anymore. They were riding straight into the startled enemy, swords slashing, arrows flying, and for a moment Mel was in a daze, her body doing all the work while her mind tried to process what was happening. There was no end. It was all twisted faces and evil snarls and black blood. They pushed further and further in, but she knew they were barely scratching the surface of what they were up against.

Then her mind slammed back into her body: _Boromir! Legolas!_ She had to keep them safe; she had to keep them alive! She whirled in a panic, but they hadn't strayed far, flanking her on either side, Boromir's sword flashing on her left, Legolas firing arrows with pinpoint accuracy on her right, and Gimli wielding his ax on the ground with deadly precision, keeping any who strayed too close from unhorsing them all. Everything was chaos, but Mel had regained her focus. She needed to stay within reach of Boromir and Legolas.

It was impossible to tell how long they fought. Despite Gimli's best efforts, the horses went down quickly, leaving the four of them fighting on the ground in a tight circle. Mel and Boromir somehow found again the rhythm that kept them moving together as effortlessly as swirling water, and it didn't take long for Legolas and Gimli to fall into that rhythm with them, working together like parts of the same entity, whirling around, over, and under one another as if it were the natural way of things. Legolas spent all his arrows, reducing him to the use of his knives, but even that did not seem to hinder them much. The bodies piled up around them, turning the ground into a grisly obstacle course. The system seemed to be working well.

And then the Nazgul came. Mel heard their chilling shrieks long before she saw them. The long black serpents glided down from the sky and reached out with their claws, one of the beasts heading straight toward them.

"Boromir!" Mel screamed.

He saw it too and reached for her, but Legolas was faster, wrapping his arms around her and hurling them both wildly through the surge of orcs and men to escape the Nazgul. But another sound rang through the air, a sharp, piercing call. And then a huge golden eagle slammed into the Nazgul's beast, ripping mercilessly at it with sharp talons as the two creatures tumbled out of the sky and slammed into the surrounding rocks, just as the rest of the eagles arrived, ripping and tearing at the other Nazgul that still soared above.

Mel jumped to her feet, Legolas beside her.

"Boromir!" she screamed, desperate to be heard over the shouting and fighting, "Where's Boromir?!"

She flung herself into the black throng of bodies, Legolas crying out after her.

"Mel, wait!"

But she couldn't wait. What if she lost him? What if she waited and the Valar took Boromir from her? The only thought that filled her mind was finding Boromir. She pushed through the orcs, slashing and stabbing recklessly, searching for any sign of him. She could hear Legolas and Gimli fighting behind her, Gimli keeping count of kills like it still mattered.

Finally, she spotted him with a group of Gondorian soldiers, fighting to take down a heavily armored troll. She felt every fiber of her being flood with relief. She gutted an orc and turned to glance behind her. Legolas and Gimli stood back to back, cutting down orcs and Easterlings like straw dummies. Alive. They were both still alive.

Suddenly, the Nazgul all cried out together, a tremendous bone chilling screech that made every living thing on the plains below pause and look skyward. Like one being, the remaining Nazgul turned and flew straight toward a burning mountain top glowing in the distance. Mount Doom. Mel had not even noticed it until now, too preoccupied with her own dilemma to recall that this battle was being fought, not just here, but within the borders of Mordor as well. She felt a sharp pang of grief for Frodo and Sam, struggling together in the burning heat of the mountain, knowing that they would never again be the same sweet little hobbits she had once known.

Then the battle resumed and Mel was thrust back into the present, fighting for her life. She tried to keep her eyes on both Boromir and Legolas, but it was difficult to do that and also fend off the orcs that threatened her on every side. She somehow found herself fighting within a small knot of men that she didn't know, some bearing the gold and green of Rohan, others the blue and silver of Gondor. They were as brave as any men that she'd ever known, but they didn't have that same coordination that she had experienced fighting with Boromir. One by one they fell around her, some silent, some screaming in agony. The screams echoed in her mind, but she pushed away her growing panic and fought on, determined to see the end of this. It was almost over. It had to be.

…and then, everything stopped.

It was just like the Pelennor Fields, the world on pause, no sound, no movement, everything frozen in place. Except this time, Mel was not frozen. She spun in a frantic circle, finally able to really look around her. The Men of the West were still surrounded by hordes of orcs and Easterlings and mountain trolls armed to the teeth.

She looked to her left and saw Legolas, poised with his knife half-raised to deal the killing blow to a large Easterling. But behind him a small orc, hunched and twisted, raised a curved sword to plunge it into his back. Mel felt a sharp pang of panic and moved to run to him, but found that her feet would take her no more than a step before locking themselves to the ground. The panic began to escalate. Slowly, afraid of what she was about to see, she turned to her right. Boromir stood over the fallen troll, his sword raised to drive it into the beast's roaring mouth. And just beyond stood an Easterling, covered in strange black markings, an ugly curved bow pulled back with an arrow trained on Boromir.

A clap of thunder rolled through the still air and a dark voice boomed out of the sky, the voice of Mandos.

**"Here lies your choice, Melody, now called Calenhiril, Daughter of Yavanna. A life for a life. Choose, and the debt between us will be settled."**

Mel felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She was gonna throw up. It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. Her head was spinning, her breath coming only in gasps. She sank to her knees in the broken rock, wrapping her arms around her chest and trying to get a grip on herself and what was happening. This was it. This was her choice, Legolas or Boromir. And she could see no loop hole, no way out. She was going to have to choose.

"I can't," she rasped, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobs racking her body, "I _can't_!"

She was screaming now, up into the sky, as loud as she could, hoping someone might hear her, might do _something!_

"I can't, I can't do this! Please, _I can't do this!_ "

But there was no answer. Nothing changed. She wasn't going to be able to beg her way out of this. Yavanna couldn't help her. No one could save her. She sobbed and screamed wordlessly, choking as she tried to catch her breath. It was a very long time before she finally felt able to sit up in the dirt and open her eyes.

Lying in front of her, glinting brightly among the dark rocks and blood, was one of Legolas' knives. She knew it by the curve of the blade, by the vines and leaves engraved in gold on the dark hilt. She glanced again at the elf, one knife ready to slice open the throat of that Easterling man, his other hand empty. Mel wondered vaguely how and when he had lost his knife. She picked it up, weighing it in her hand, and recalled a night not too long ago at the beacon of Calenhad, when she had attempted to give herself a knife throwing lesson. The clarity of the memory, so far removed from where she was now, worked as an anchor that she used to regain control of her logic and contemplate the terrible thing that was being asked of her. She turned the blade over in her hands absently as her mind worked, creating erratic connections.

A life for a life, a debt to be repaid, a debt she had created by saving the life of the man she loved: Boromir's life, now in her hands again and not just his life, but the life of Legolas, her best friend, her confidant, the only person in the world that she trusted as much as Boromir. There was nothing she wouldn't do to save them. Nothing. She would rather…

The word flashed across her thoughts like a bolt of lightning against a clear blue sky, bright and sharp as the knife poised in her fingers. It was as if she had only been viewing the world in two dimensions and now the third had suddenly opened for her, remaking all of existence and forcing her mind to throw out everything she thought she knew and start over.

A life for a life… but if a life was all that was needed to satisfy the debt, it stood to reason that _any_ life would do, so long as it was of comparable value. So it made sense that the Valar would choose Legolas. His life was significant in the development of Middle Earth's history, as much as Boromir's would be if he lived. But if any life would do…

Mel held up the knife and let the light glint on the blade.

… _Melody, now called Calenhiril, Daughter of Yavanna…_

After all, what life held more value than one the Valar called kin?

"Me…" she whispered into the silence.

For a long moment there was no response, but Mel would not be ignored this time. She got to her feet, sword in one hand, knife in the other, and shouted at the empty sky.

"I choose myself! _Take_ _me_!"

There was silence, just long enough to make Mel wonder if her choice would be refused. Then the voice of Mandos rumbled through the air.

**"So be it."**

With another shattering clap of thunder, the world started moving again and Mel was pulled into action like a stringed puppet. Without thinking, she turned and flung Legolas' knife as hard as she could in the direction of the hunchbacked orc. It spun through the air and buried itself neatly in the back of his skull, just in time for the elf to turn and watch the ugly thing crumple to the ground.

But Mel didn't see any of that because she was running, as fast as her legs would move, leaping and pushing her way toward Boromir. The ground rumbled beneath her feet and she heard startled cries all around her, but she ignored it, even dropping her sword to gain just a few more seconds of speed. Boromir drove his blade through the mouth of the fallen troll and the Easterling released his arrow, just as Mel lunged at Boromir with a desperate cry.

She felt the impact first, as if someone had shoved her, and she staggered back, dazed. Then there was _pain_ , a pain unlike anything she had ever felt, blooming in her chest and she frantically fumbled, desperate to make the pain stop, until her fingers found the black shaft of the arrow buried in her ribcage. She lifted a shaking hand in front of her eyes. It glistened bright red in the dull light.

Her ears started ringing. The ground rumbled again, this time violently enough to make her stumble and fall. Someone caught her, the jarring impact sending a piercing agony rattling through her and she bit back a scream. She heard voices through the white noise in her ears, startled, frightened voices. She recognized Boromir's voice. He was holding her in his lap, his dirty, blood-streaked face filled with desperation and fear, something Mel didn't think she had ever seen before. He was talking to her, but she couldn't seem to focus. There was so much pain and so much blood and every time she took a breath it felt like she was drowning. But she tried harder because it was Boromir and she loved him and she wanted to hear his voice.

"…have you, Melody, I have you now, everything will be alright, you'll be alright…"

Boromir's voice was as frightened and desperate as his eyes, and his words didn't make sense. She wasn't alright. She wasn't _going_ to be alright. She'd made a deal…

And that was when she finally connected what was happening to her to the choice she had made. She was dying. She tried to take a breath, but that feeling of drowning caught her off guard and she coughed. Spikes of pain shot through her, and something warm and thick filled her mouth. She swallowed slowly and finally managed to choke out a word, a question, the most important question.

"Le… Legolas?"

Boromir nodded.

"Yes, yes he's fine, we're all fine Melody, we're safe, just lie still now, we're going to fix this…" Tears welled up in his eyes, tears of frustration, "I'm going to _fix_ this…"

Mel sighed as relief flooded her, dulling the pain for a moment.

"Safe…" she whispered, reaching up to brush her fingers against Boromir's face, "You're finally safe."

He grabbed her hand with one of his and held it tight to his chest.

"Melody, why did you do that?" he said, his voice angry though his tears, " _Why?"_

Mel felt her head getting light, but she tried to think of a way to answer him through the dimness that was threatening to overtake her. She wanted him to understand. It was important.

"I had… to make… a choice," she said, taking short, shallow breaths through her pain, "I couldn't… choose… between you."

Another cough spasmed through her and the warm liquid trickled out of the corner of her mouth, but she didn't have the strength to wipe it away. She barely had the strength to keep drawing breath. She was so tired. Boromir reached down and brushed at the spot with his thumb, his hand lingering on her cheek.

"Melody," he gasped, his voice ragged, "Melody, please, I love you. Please…"

She smiled and squeezed his hand with the very last of her strength.

"I love you too," she whispered, the words more of a sigh, "Tell Legolas… Tell him…"

Everything was fading now, the edges of her vision dimming, the sounds getting further away. She could still hear Boromir's voice, crying, shouting, begging, but it was so distant, hard to distinguish the words. Besides, he was safe. They were both safe. The Valar had held up their end of the bargain. And she was so tired…

Mel sighed one last time, closed her eyes, and let them take her.

* * *

Boromir's grief echoed over the rocks of the Morannon, turning the head of every living thing that still stood. He clutched the body of the woman he loved to his chest, burying his face in the tangle of her dark hair and sobbing as he had never done before, for he had never felt pain like this, as if his soul had been torn from his body, leaving him a shell of agony.

Legolas stood over them both, silent though his own grief was plain on his face. Tears fell from his eyes unbidden and he paid them no heed. They were insignificant compared to the emptiness in his chest. He had never experienced this, and it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Distantly, he realized that he finally understood what it was that made the Eldar so desperate to leave the shores of this land. This loss, this emptiness, was a pain that would follow him into eternity. Not even the beauty of Valinor itself would rid him of this sorrow.

Out of the clear sky, a bolt of lightning cracked the edge of the battleground, and from the smoldering circle of black stone, a woman stepped forth and began to walk with a deliberate, gliding step through the aftermath of the Morannon battle. None saw her pass. All those not relevant to the task at hand had been locked in time, unaware that all around them the world turned onward. The two for whom she had come were so immersed in their grief that no force in this world or any other could move them.

The woman's dress rustled lightly as she walked, but in truth it was not a dress. Her tall form was clothed in wraps of climbing vines, the same vibrant green as her sharp eyes, set into a pale and flawless face, framed with dark brown curls. This was a mask of beauty, for any that looked upon her true visage risked being consumed by the power within.

The First Born was the first to heed her. She moved smoothly over the battlefield and he could feel the power of her pulsing in waves. He recognized her instantly, though he knew her not. As she approached he fell to one knee before her, speaking his native tongue.

"My lady, you honor us with you presence here."

His voice was wooden, with no trace of the reverence she was accustomed to from Illuvatar's Children. She turned her eyes upon him and though his face was downcast, he could feel the power of her gaze. He lowered his head still farther.

"You must pardon me, my lady. My grief overwhelms me."

"You would banter with this creature?"

The dark growl of the Son of Gondor gained the woman's swift attention. His stormy eyes held no fear, no respect, only anger, grief, betrayal. He still held close the body of Melody Calenhiril.

"This _thing_ who has taken one so dear to us?" The Son of Gondor snarled, "What more could the Valar _possibly_ require? Have you come that you might be assured your work is done? Behold with your own eyes the results of your meddling folly? Well, here it is!"

He held out the girl's limp body so the woman could see it well.

"Here is what's left of the one I love, the one you have _STOLEN_ from me!"

Had he not been consumed by his rage and his grief, he might have seen the woman flinch at his words. But he only gathered the girl close to himself again, pressing his cheek to her forehead, tears flowing freely, all of his great strength sapped.

"You can cause me no more pain than this," he muttered, "I have nothing left. Now go. Leave us in peace."

But the woman remained. Her perfect features did not crease in annoyance or anger. Instead, she seemed to soften until she appeared as close to human as she ever had. She knelt to the ground before the two men, the leaves of her garb rustling softly. Finally, after several careful moments, Yavanna spoke.

" **I know your grief, Son of Gondor. But it is not I who took her from you."**

She reached out and gently brushed the dead girl's cheek with the very tips of her pale fingers.

**"You are not the only one who suffers this loss,"** she murmured.

She met the angry eyes of Illuvatar's Second Born, without apology or accusation.

**"She chose this. She chose it because she could not bear the loss of you."**

She met the Eldar's gaze as well.

" **Either of you. A choice was placed before her. Two paths diverging in a distant wood…"**

She looked down into Melody's face and a fond smile touched her lips.

**"But our dear Melody, she forged her own way, as she had always done. When faced with an impossible choice, between the two whom she loved most, she instead took the suffering upon herself."**

She looked into the faces of the two who shared her grief and her voice held the power of the Valar behind it.

**"** _**Such sacrifice does not go unnoticed."** _

Both the First and Second Born felt a jolt in their chests, the spark of hope. Yavanna swept to her feet, now returned to her natural state, her face smooth and regal, removed from the workings of the mortal world once more.

**"I have not come to bring more grief, but to offer compromise on behalf of my brothers and sisters. Melody Calenhiril gave her life that you both might live. We propose you do the same for her."**

Yavanna held up her hand before either could speak.

**"We do not ask for death of the body, but rather an end to the life you now know, and a return to the life that should have been."**

She turned to the First Born.

**"For you, Prince of the Green Wood, this means fulfillment of a destiny that was set out for you long before Melody Calenhiril ever entered your world. It is a long, full life of honor and unbreakable friendships, in which you inalterably shape the course of the future. But it is a life which she has no part in, a life with no memory of the one you have named** _**orenyanil** _ **."**

Legolas could feel the weight of the words sink into the very depth of his being. To live a life in which he never knew Mel, never saw her smile, or heard her laugh, never held her when she was frightened, or dried her tears when she cried, it was a life that he could not imagine. At the same time he knew such a life existed. It was the life Mel had read about in her books, the life he had been meant to live. But what sort of life could it be, if he never knew the love he felt for her?

Yavanna now turned to the Second Born.

**"Your choice, Son of Gondor, is of a different sort. For your destiny was that your song should be ended on the banks of the Anduin. However, the sacrifice of Melody Calenhiril was made that you might live. And we keep our word. Therefore you must choose to live that life, to complete the destiny you were meant for and to suffer the consequences of it. Once that is fulfilled, you will be returned to a different life, to live the rest of your days out of the memories of your friends and your family."**

For Boromir, this choice was simple. It was a choice that he had made days ago in Minas Tirith. He would do anything if it would keep Melody safe, no matter the sacrifice. Even if it meant letting his own life go. Even if it meant he might never see her again.

"If we do this, she will live?" Boromir asked, his voice tentative.

Yavanna nodded.

**"The Valar have agreed. If you are both in accord, the life debt will be filled. Melody Calenhiril will be spared."**

They looked at one other. Boromir's decision was already made. It was left only to Legolas. The elf smiled sadly, knowing that his choice was clear.

"I could not live in a world that did not contain her light," he said.

He brushed a strand of hair tenderly from Mel's cheek, then leaned in and whispered in her ear, a phrase that Boromir could not quite hear. Then he kissed her forehead and sat back.

"I am in accord."

Boromir nodded.

"As am I."

He placed his own kiss on Melody's forehead.

"I love you, Melody," he whispered.

Yavanna raised her hands and spoke in a voice that rippled with unimaginable power.

_**"As we are all of one accord… so let it be!"** _

Her hands snapped together and the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Elvish Translations**   
>  _(all translations are Sindarin, unless otherwise noted)_
> 
> vinimë: little one (q)  
> savo amdir: have hope  
> maethoreg-nîn: little warrior  
> orenyanil: my heart (inner-mind) friend (q)


	31. Epilogue

Mel shot upright with a gasp. It felt as if her lungs were trying to inflate for the very first time, and she coughed and choked, trying to force down more air in big gulps. Hands reached out of the darkness to steady her, rubbing her back soothingly.

"It's alright, Melody," a calm voice soothed, "It's going to be alright. Take deep breaths."

A glass of water was pressed into her hand and she took big swallows between breaths. Her throat felt like sandpaper. The voice in the dark was familiar, but at first she couldn't place it. It felt like her mind was emerging from a white, fluffy cloud. It took her a moment to even realize that 'Melody' was her name. But from that knowledge came the realization that there was only one person who called her by that name.

"Boromir?" she rasped, her throat still rough.

She heard a scratching sound as a match was lit and put to the wick of a lamp. Boromir's face emerged from the shadows, lined with concern as he brushed back a few strands of her hair.

"Are you alright? How do you feel?"

She had to think about that for a second. It felt like a question that should require some thought. How did she feel? In comparison to what exactly? She tried to pull together some recollection of how she _should_ be feeling. She tried to pull up her last memory…

Pain… so much pain… and blood… and she couldn't breathe! She was drowning! Everything flooded back in a rush that threatened to shatter her mind. She was dying… no… She was dead!

"I'm dead, oh god, I'm _dead_!" she shrieked, flailing wildly, the beginnings of hysterical sobs starting to bubble up inside of her. She didn't want to be dead! She wanted to live and marry Boromir and watch Legolas chase her grandchildren when she was too old to keep up with them, she didn't want to be…!

Boromir caught her arms and pulled her to him, holding her to his chest tightly so that she could no longer struggle.

"Melody, Melody you are not dead. Listen to me, you are _not_ dead!"

"But…" Her voice was shaky with sobs and fear, "But it was the only way… I had to… You… and Legolas…"

She trailed off, another part of her brain emerging from the cloud. She pushed away from his grasp, her eyes full of suspicion.

"Where is Legolas?"

Boromir's eyes grew sad and Mel felt on the verge of another bout of hysteria.

"Boromir," she demanded, trying to keep her voice from shaking, "If I'm not dead, I want to see him."

"Melody," he said, soft and gentle, "My love, I'm afraid that won't be possible."

Something inside of Mel broke.

"Oh god," she choked, feeling like she was drowning all over again, "Oh god, no, it's… it's not fair, it was supposed to be me! I chose _me_!"

The expression on Boromir's face changed from sad to panicked in a blink.

"No! No, Melody, he's fine! I swear to you on all our lives, he is alive and well, we all are!"

"Then why can't I see him?"

"Because he does not know that you exist!"

Her voice caught in her throat. What? How was that…? She didn't know what to believe anymore. Was she dead? Was this a trick of some kind, some sort of punishment for what she had done? Legolas… her best friend… orenyanil…

Boromir sighed and passed a hand over his eyes.

"I am sorry, Melody," he said, sounding so tired, "There was nothing else to be done."

Mel swallowed and touched his arm, bringing his eyes back to her.

"Boromir," she said, in as calm a voice as she could muster, "Tell me what happened."

And he did. He told her everything, from the moment she had… well, she supposed she really _had_ died, though she didn't remember it. He told her about Yavanna, about the choice that had been given to them, to give up their lives to save hers.

"I did not know what awaited me until I woke here," he said, taking Mel's hand and pressing it to his cheek, closing his eyes, "Melody, I did not think I would ever see you again."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Mel didn't know what to say. It was taking time for her to process the information, to understand what had happened. She would never see Legolas again. He did not even know her. He would live a wonderful, full life, the life he had been meant for, the life he _deserved…_ she just couldn't be a part of it.

Boromir still held her hand to his cheek, as if he were trying to memorize the texture of her skin.

"I could not have lived without you," he said suddenly, making Mel jump, "I knew it, the moment I felt the life leave your body. If you had…"

He choked on his words and his grip on her hand tightened as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, burning with a sudden anger.

"Melody, you must never do that again. Do you understand? _Never_."

Mel shook her head, trying to pull her hand from his iron grip.

"I… I didn't have a choice…"

"But you knew!" he said, sounding not just angry now, but hurt, "You _knew_ you would have to make that choice, that you would have to choose between us, and you said nothing! We knew that you were troubled, why did you not tell us?"

"What was I supposed to say?" she snapped, feeling defensive despite herself, "One of us is gonna die, let's draw straws?"

For a moment, Boromir looked like he might shout at her. But then all the anger seemed to drain out of him and he sighed, pressing her hand to his cheek again.

"Promise me, Melody," he murmured, "Please promise me that you will never keep anything like that from me again. No matter what the circumstances."

Mel felt her own anger disappear.

"Okay," she said, "I promise."

There was another pause.

"It is a strange thing," Boromir said, his eyes distant, "I remember everything, all in a jumble now. The life we lived together, the life I was meant to live had we never met…"

He trailed off, his expression hardening.

"I remember my death."

Mel swallowed, her throat still painfully dry. The life she had tried to save him from and he'd been forced to live it anyway.

"I'm sorry," she said, softly.

He blinked and then smiled at her, reaching up to brush his fingers against her cheek.

"It was a sacrifice worth making."

He released her hand and reached to pour her another glass of water. That was when she saw the glint of metal in the candlelight and she jerked back, startled. There was a ring. On the third finger of his left hand, a solid silver band. She looked down at her own hands. There, nestled on her own left ring finger, was the blue sapphire set in waves of silver. She started to touch it, and saw the glint of gold on her right hand. The Yavannacor. She still had it.

Boromir reached out and took her left hand in his, their rings touching. She looked up and he smiled.

"I fear we have missed our own wedding," he said, gently.

For the first time, Mel gave logical thought to the situation she had woken into. Boromir sat on the side of the bed, which she now noticed was easily big enough for two. He was dressed plainly in a white cotton shirt and rough brown pants, she in a soft white gown. The small room they were in was poorly lit, making it difficult to tell much about it.

"Boromir?" Mel finally asked, "Where are we?"

His smile widened, his eyes dancing in the candlelight.

"In our house," He took her hand, "Come and see."

He pulled her to her feet and led her out of the dimly lit room and though a small hall and down a flight of stairs into what looked like a kitchen, a small flame dancing in the stone fireplace. With a grin of gleeful anticipation, Boromir opened one last door and Mel stepped outside.

She stared for a long moment. And then she began to laugh, not because anything was particularly funny, but because it was so perfect and wonderful that the pure delight of it made laughter bubble up inside of her uncontrollably.

The Valar had given Mel an orchard.

She ran through the dew covered grass in her bare feet and flung herself up onto the wide-board fence that lined the rows and rows of apple trees, stretching toward the gradually brightening horizon. She could hear the chorus of their voices, chattering amongst themselves, eagerly waiting for dawn. Boromir suddenly grabbed her from behind, hoisting her into his arms and spun her wildly, laughing as Mel squealed and clung to him, so giddy with happiness that she could not tell which was making her dizzier.

When they finally stopped spinning, Boromir leaned down and kissed her. Mel wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, loving the feel and taste of him, reveling in the knowledge that he was hers, forever and always, and nothing would ever separate them again.

The sun crested the horizon, sending rays of golden light flooding through the branches of the orchard, spilling out onto a new day. Mel heard a melodious chorus of voices, the sound of the trees greeting the sun. It was the most beautiful sound she'd ever heard, like the sound of angels singing.

Then another voice, barely a whisper, cut through the sound of the trees' morning song.

" _ **A second chance, Melody Calenhiril…"**_ Yavanna whispered, _**"Use it wisely…"**_

Mel felt the Yavannacor warm on her finger and she resisted the urge to touch it, the words echoing ominously in her head. She looked up into Boromir's smiling face, and pushed them aside. Another day… She would think about it another day.

Today Boromir, Son of Gondor, carried his wife over the threshold of their home, and their new life began.

* * *

**The Story of Melody Calenhiril will continue in "Changing History IV: Calenhiril's Search". Stay Tuned!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: You read that right, folks! Part Four will begin posting on Thursday, **March 3rd, 2016!** I'm giving myself a little time to get all my ducks in a row, but this is actually happening! Mark your calendars, I'll see you all in March! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Calenhiril (A "Changing History" Playlist)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794662) by [fogisbeautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fogisbeautiful/pseuds/fogisbeautiful)




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